#i somehow burnt the INSIDE OF MY KNEES | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yeyinde · 2 years

Note

“#his beard just??? looks wet???” okay but Price having to talk to the team after eating you out and not getting a chance to make himself presentable 🫣🫣

you put this idea in my head (after i put it in your head) so now you have to deal with this!

➝warnings: cunnilingus, edge play (kinda), smut, P-in-V sex, creampie, D/s undertones; Price is a menace and the biggest dom; gendered anatomy, female Reader, female gendered anatomy

➝notes: this is so beyond messy, so sorry!! not even fun messy just. why would you do this, girl? messy.

➝word count: 2,4k

"Ah, cap—!"

Your knees quake when he presses the flat arch of his nose against your throbbing clit, tongue tracing figure-eights over the taut skin of your cunt, stretched around three thick fingers.

He grazes his knuckles over a spot inside of you, dragging the rough skin over your gummy, fluttering walls, until you gasp for him, choking out something that sounds like this name.

Price huffs, and the curl of his breath wisping over your soaked pussy makes your eyes roll, chin tilting back on the table he spread you out on. The one that, three hours prior, was used to plan a hostage rescue with the team.

(The very same team getting their things ready in the debriefing room for wheels-up in forty minutes.)

The wry bristles of his coarse burnt umber beard scrape deliciously over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, and the feeling of it chafing your flesh raw makes you tremble, quiver. It's that equinox of pleasure, and the beginning edges of that delicious burn of irritation when he rubs you raw. Tender.

His other hand rests flat against your thigh, keeping it flush against the table. His thumb strokes your skin when you're good for him, a small modicum of comfort amid a storm of utter brutality. Of nearly twenty minutes of pure, delicious torture. The other he hikes over his broad shoulder, your heel knocking uselessly into the thick muscles of his back as he works you to the very top of a vertiginous mountain.

(Over and over and over again—)

"Sir—," you whimper, the word a featherlight cry from your chest. It makes him hum.

"Steady now, Sergeant."

Steady, he says, as if he hadn't been eating your pussy for twenty of the forty minutes, drawing it out until you were an overwrought, overstimulated mess on the table. All thoughts are caught in the sticky opiate mess of your head, rendered out into ashes, into wispy cries of his name (John, John, John—), or his title (captain, sir—), and please (please, please pleasepleaseplease—). It's muddled in bliss; in the bitter, maddening tang of dissatisfaction.

Price brings you to the edge of that delirious precipice, and then pulls back before you reach the top, leaning back on his haunches as you whimpered, begged, pleaded for him to let you cum, to just let you—

You'd look between your trembling thighs, then, as if you could somehow will the man to give into your demands, your needs, just by flashing the same expression that started this whole thing. Coy, saccharine sweet; lips arched in a smile that tasted sybaritic.

(Knuckles brushed against his when you curled your fingers over the straps of his vest, and used his steady, solid unmoveable weight to hoist yourself up, lips brushing the wry, rough hair covering his chin, murmuring: "you talk a lot, sir. I should find a way to shut you up—"

He'd given in, then, shifting on his feet as you peppered kisses to his ulotrichy jaw. "And what do you have in mind, Sergeant, mm? Want me to bury my face in your pretty cunt? Gonna shut me up with your pussy?"

You thought you won when broad hands slipped away from the grip on his straps, and curled under your thighs. He gave you no time to prepare yourself before he lifted you on the table, eyes Sapphire beds of desire as he loomed over you.

It was a victory, then.)

But now, no matter how twee you act, or desperately you beg him for release, he won't give in. Won't.

He just smiles at you. Grins. Chin wet, ruined, hairs sticking to his lips, matted to his cheeks, and he'd say (taunt):

"C'mon, Sergeant. You can't be about to cum already." Timbre drenched in sex and liquid with smoke. His eyes flash—florentine promises: a hymn to Hēdonē—and he waits, waits, until the high dissipates in your veins. "Don't be greedy, now."

You want to laugh, to scoff, but the weight of his hands pulling your thighs apart, the ghost of his breath against your cunt, the rasp of his tongue sliding over your slit, stems the words in your throat.

All you can do is thread your fingers through his messy locks, and get swept away by his pace once more.

There is no respite in this. Despite the pleasure his humid breath on your cunt brings, or the molten roll of his tongue running from your messy, weeping hole to your throbbing clit and back again, it's torture. Madness.

He circles your clit with just the soft tip, running figure-eights over the bundle of nerves until your thighs tense, clamping against the sides of his head, and locking him tight to your pussy.

A huff. Then, "tryna' suffocate me, love?"

It's muffled, and wet. Sticky from your drenched pussy leaking your slick down his wrist, his forearm, and saturating his beard until it turns the same dark shade as his cigars. Near black with how soaked you are. The bristles stick to his lips, and cheeks.

The sight when he raises his chin, damp hair sliding over your raw cunt, makes you lose it completely.

"C'mon, love," he groans into your cunt, nuzzling his beard over your sopping slit. The burn of it feels good—so, so good—and you break at the feeling of it. The indelible amalgam of pleasure that edges so sweetly into pain, into that raw quiver of a livewire.

It feels too much like sticking your finger in a socket. Licking the back of a battery. The shock, the jolt ricochets through your core until you leak dopamine, oxytocin, and endorphins from every overwrought synapse.

"Price—ah, fuck—"

"Come on, sweetheart," your knees quake from the sound of his voice alone: heady with smoke, sex; a crackle, charred wood, that spills from his soaked lips, heavy with your slick. "You wanna cum? Beg for it."

Your hips arch, canting your greedy cunt into his eager, teasing mouth.

"Please, please—"

"Not good enough, love."

It's a grumble; pitched low and liquid, and you nearly cum from the timbre of his voice—molasses thick, and covered in ash—but he pulls his mouth away from your clit, and slides it down to push at the rim of your entrance. His fingers spread inside of you, scraping over your walls until your back arches, head gummy and soporific from the way he fucks your pussy.

"Price, please—," another rasping hum—disapproval—and he slows his thrusts until high begins to ebb. "Fuck, no, please—please, John, I need to cum—"

"Better."

"Fuck, sir, please! Let me cum on your tongue—I need it so bad—"

"Then cum for me, love."

It doesn't sound human when the command is scraped out of his throat. A mangled, thick demand; a smouldering ember.

You cum with his tongue laving over your clit, three thick fingers fucking insistently against a spot inside of you that has nirvana liquifying behind your eyelids.

Bliss floods through you like a deluge; a cascade of euphoria that snaps inside of you like a broken rubber band, an unspooling coil.

You melt into the metal below; bone dissolving into raw mercury. Blissed out. Drunk on the opiate high of his tongue and fingers, and the burning husk of his voice—molten commands dipped in ashes.

"God, that was—"

He stands in one fluid motion, and slots his hips in the loose, languid bracket of your legs. His cock falls on your mons, tip leaking prespend over your belly button.

There is no warning, no words. His hands slide under your thighs, gripping you tight enough to bruise, and then he's wrenching your pelvis up, cock rubbing, bobbing insistently against your slit.

"John—"

One hand leaves your aching flesh to grip his throbbing cock in his hands, sliding it down the mess of your cunt until it catches on your weeping hole.

"Oh, god—"

He catches your gaze as he rubs himself over you.

"M'not gonna fuck you, love—;" his cock slides to your clit, tapping his frenulum against your aching flesh when you whine, pout. You want him inside of you, pushed to the limit—

"Gonna be good for me, aren't you?"

You're nodding before the words are out—eager, docile; you want him, always. Your cunt clenches on nothing, desperate to be filled, stretched to the absolute limit by his girth.

But he won't. Not yet.

His cock is covered in your slick, and when he runs his palm down the length of it, you hear the sticky, wet sound of it as he fucks his own hand, bringing himself to the edge despite your eager, willing cunt right there. Right there—

You angle your hips up, and feel the engorged head of his cock catch on your rim. So, so close, so—

He pulls away, tutting at you. "Greedy little cunt, isn't it?"

You whine. "Please, need your cock—"

He leans down, pressing his chest against yours, and catches your mouth. It's not a kiss—it's a wet, sloppy mess of tongue, and teeth, but it makes you ache, makes you mewl at the taste of yourself on his breath, and the dripping state of his beard as it leaves behind a soaked trail over your chin and cheeks.

He's a mess. An absolute mess of your pussy, and—

His hips jerk, and he breaks the kiss to press his mouth to neck, teeth scraping over your flesh as he finally, finally, sinks inside of you, stretching you, pushing your walls to the mettle as you struggle to make room for him.

The head of his cock presses taut to the plug of your womb, knocking into it until you whimper from the too much too full feeling of taking him to the root.

"'M'not gonna last long," he promises in a hush, liquid whisper, voice quivering from pleasure.

You cant your hips into him until the grind of his cock inside of you sends you reeling through the opium haze of bliss that spoils inside of you once more.

"Cum for me, John," you choke out with a gasp when he meets your messy thrusts with his own, sloppily pounding into you.

His muscles quiver under your fingers, nails digging into his biceps as he pounds you like he's starved for it, desperate. And he is, of course. This whole thing has been just as much of a tease to him as it had been for you, and you know, know, he's close by the tells you pick up on. The divot between his brow, the clench of his job, the broken grunts that slip between gritted teeth, sibilant and aching, and the glossiness in his nautical blue gaze.

The grind of his cock inside of you is more than you can handle, but you take it, anyway. Your legs lock around his thick waist, hands cling to his arms, as he fucks you in brutal, deep thrusts; hips pistoning into you as he chases the embers of his own release.

You taste yourself when you press your lips to damp cheek, and whimper into his skin:

"Cum inside me, baby—"

You feel him tense, body coiling taut, and then he groans. Low and liquid, and you feel heat bloom inside of you as he cums, fills you up.

He grunts with each jerk of his cock as he spends himself within you, low and brittle; guttural growls of masticated words that make little sense when they squeeze through the clench of his jaw.

You take it all, holding him close as his lashes flutter, eyes roll, and his muscles lock over you. He looks good when he cums, when his face falls, lax and loose, mouth dropping open, as he spits the last of it inside of you where it pools, a molten puddle, against the seal of your womb.

Price's bones liquifying. He sags against you with a huff of your name, and something you can decipher through the roar in your ears, the rush of pleasure and the gossamer of sex that clings to your skin.

"That was—"

He's cut off.

His phone buzzes. The ring is familiar.

Times up.

You snort a little when he groans, and slowly, reluctantly, pulls away from you. His irritation bleeds into the torpor of his expression, cutting through the aftershocks of bliss.

It's uncanny, really, how he's able to reassemble himself into the shape of a leader with ease despite the scent of sex that clings to him, clogging the room in a thick, dense cloud.

He pulls out of you, murmuring a quiet sorry, love when you flinch at the drag of him against your bruised walls, and then tucks himself back inside his trousers.

Three minutes is all it takes and he's Captain John Price, a leader, superior; dependable man.

If you didn't feel the ache in your cunt from where he split you open with his thick cock, or the steady trickle of his molten spend leaking from your raw, chafed hole, thighs sticky from your own slick, and irritated by the rough scrape of his beard against delicate flesh, you might have thought nothing was amiss.

Nothing, except—

His face is flushed a bright red, eyes rippling with the aftermath of his ebbing pleasure. It's easy to hide, however—he might have been exercising prior to takeoff. Napping, perhaps.

But the way his beard glitters in the jaundiced light, wet and slick, is—

You open your mouth to tell him, but his hand falls, palm smacking against your inner thigh, cutting your words short with a sharp gasp at the sting in your flesh.

His lips curl up in a smirk when you flinch.

"Gotta go, love. Get yourself cleaned up, and I'll tell the others you're doing the last-minute check."

He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, but it does nothing to hide the dampness of his beard, the glossy sheen that coats his matted hair.

Price turns with a sharp nod.

(You blink at his back, and wonder if the gnarled thing inside of your gut, a twisting sense of possession and accomplishment at the sight of him, soaked from your cunt, should alarm you.

But you can't deny seeing him wrecked from you alone buzzes through your marrow in a way that makes your toes curl. Primal satisfaction, you think, and wonder when he'll notice how soaked you'd left him.

Moments later, through the thin walls, you hear Soap murmur:

"Did you wash your face before, cap? I think you forgot to dry your beard."

#HM #dunno how i feel about this one #captain john price #john price #cod mw2 smut #cod captain price #captain price x reader #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price x you #john price x you #captain price x you #captain price #i'm going through a crisis with my writing right now

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emlovessid · 27 days

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@into-the-jeggyverse for the bingo prompt beard scruff, 662 words bingo masterpost

Regulus wakes to an arm heavy over his waist, breath fanning across the back of his neck.

There’s a moment where he wonders whether Barty drunkenly ended up in his bed instead of his own last night, and is ready to untangle their legs and kick him in the shin when maybe-Barty adjusts in his sleep, tightening the arm around Regulus’ waist and pulling him closer. He feels lips press lightly against his bare shoulder, unable to help the shiver that runs through him at the brush of beard scruff across his skin; Barty has never been able to grow anything remotely close to a beard.

Eyes flying open, he realises he’s not in his room at all. And that’s when it all comes rushing back to him.

Laughing over slices of pizza about the garlic bread James had burnt to a crisp; I swear to god I set a timer, I don’t know what happened.

James’ reluctance and eventual surrender when Regulus suggested watching a scary movie; you’re paying for my therapy after this, just FYI.

The space between them on the couch that became smaller and smaller with each jumpscare and blood-curdling scream from the speakers, until they were pressed against each other from their shoulders down to their knees. The way James’ hand darted out to grip his the next time he flinched, Regulus only hesitating a moment before stretching out his fingers to thread them with James’ and giving them a comforting squeeze.

The next part is a bit blurry for Regulus, all he remembers is that one minute they were both watching the movie and the next they were only a breath apart, eyes meeting for a moment before their lips brush, tentative at first until something snapped and they crashed together.

He remembers the warmth of James’ hand as it slipped underneath Regulus’ jumper and met his bare skin, the taste of James’ lips as they parted at the touch of Regulus’ tongue, the sound of James’ moans as Regulus runs his fingers through his hair, the feel of James’ stubble against his chin, his neck, the inside of his thighs.

This time when he feels James – not Barty – adjust behind him, he rolls over to face him. He looks so peaceful in sleep, eyelashes resting atop his cheeks, mouth parted slightly. He tries not to be embarrassed by how long he lies there watching James sleep, before Regulus eventually slips out from underneath him to head to the bathroom down the hall, heart tugging at the small whine half-conscious James lets out.

He’s just closed James’ bedroom door behind him when he comes face to face with his brother, a cup of tea in each hand on the way back to his own bedroom.

“Morning,” Sirius says casually, though the smirk at the corner of his lips makes Regulus nervous.

“Morning...”

“You slept with James, didn’t you?”

“What?” Regulus chokes.

With a wave of his hand, Sirius clarifies, “Well, at the very least you made out with him.”

“How did you—” he splutters, realising too late he’s just confessed, not that Sirius hadn’t somehow figured him out already with only one look at him.

“James and I have been friends for a long time. Over the years, I’ve been witness to a number of James’ hook ups leaving the flat the next morning. Unsurprisingly, all of their chins looked a whole lot like yours does right now.”

Regulus’ hand flies up to his face, wincing when his fingers press against the tender skin of his chin that James’ beard scruff has apparently torn to shreds. When he looks at Sirius again, he’s grinning triumphantly into his cup of tea.

“I hate you,” Regulus groans.

With a mock gasp, Sirius says, “I think you should be thanking me, actually. After all, it’s because of me that you even know James.”

He has a point, but Regulus isn’t willing to concede. Not today. “I still hate you.”

#jegulus bingo 2024 #jegulus #jegulus fic #marauders #sometimes i write things #thank you kelz for this not at all targeted prompt <3

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btsficsandsuch · 1 year

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hello! if your request is still open can i request one for yoongi or jin about clumsy reader like she often get hurt like walking into a wall, burnt her hand while cooking, etc? and eventually hurt herself really bad & jin/yoongi took care of reader? just very fluffy fics please🥺

thank you in advance! i've been on bed rest for a days now bcs i broke my ankle and been reading your fics to stay sane i hope you keep writing i love your works💗

Sorry this took so long. I hope you’re feeling better by now!

I Heart Yoongi

“I can’t believe this.”, you mumbled to yourself as you waited for the doctor to come back and wrap your arm in a cast. You were currently sitting in the emergency room with your best friend after tripping over your own shoe and falling down a flight of stairs breaking your arm. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call Yoongi? He’s going to be really upset when he finds out you called me and not him.”, your friend asked. Nodding your head you replied, “Yeah he has a busy day today and if he knows I’m here the he’ll skip his entire schedule to be here. He’s always taking care of me and I don’t want him to get in trouble for me.”

Your thoughts traveled back to all the times your boyfriend Yoongi had taken care of you after you clumsily hurt yourself. Just last Monday you burned your hand while making you both breakfast. Somehow you knocked the pan off of the stove and instead of letting it drop on the floor and loosing your pancakes you thought it would be a good idea to try and grab the pan but you instantly regretted it when you felt the stinging pain in your fingers. Yoongi had helped you put burn gel and bandages on your fingers and then even cleaned up the mess you had made before making another batch of pancakes.

Then on Wednesday you thought you’d surprise him by bringing him a drink and some snacks to his studio. You had a cute serving tray that you filled with a glass of water, some snacks that you put in these cute little glass bowls, you made a sandwich that you put on a plate in case he was extra hungry, you also gave him a glass of his favorite whiskey as a treat, and then even though it was cheesy you topped it off with a single rose that you put in a little glass vase. Looking back all that glass was probably a bad idea for someone as clumsy as you but at the time you were trying to be cute. Standing in front of his studio door you were trying to find a way to knock while balancing the heavy tray. You took your hand out from under the tray and knocked three times before quickly putting it back but it was too late. The vase started to sway and toppled over which made the glass of water fall and ruined the food and next thing you know the entire tray fell to the ground with a crash and glass shattering everywhere. In your panic you were trying to clean up hoping maybe Yoongi didn’t hear anything and managed to step on a piece of glass cutting your foot. Cursing yourself you went to walk to the bathroom to find a bandaid but you were stopped when you felt a hand around your wrist and you turned to see Yoongi. Silently he walked you to the bathroom and had you sit down on the tub while checking your foot to make sure there wasn’t any glass stuck before cleaning you up and placing a bandage over the cut. Then he cleaned up your mess even chuckling when he saw the rose. After sulking for a little you walked out into the kitchen just as he was finishing up and he walked over placing a sandwich down for you and bringing one over for himself so the two of you could sit and eat together.

Finally on Friday you had decided to do a deep clean of the apartment. You were down on your hands and knees scrubbing the inside of one of the kitchen cabinets when you heard Yoongi walk in the kitchen. Excitedly you tried to quickly stand up not realizing just how far in the cabinet you were and with a loud thud you hit the back of your head on the top of the cabinet. Yoongi quickly ran over and pulled you into his arms and rubbed the back of your head. He sat your down on the couch before returning to the kitchen to finish up the cleaning job and put everything back in its place all while checking on you every few minutes to make sure you didn’t have a serious head injury or anything.

That brings you to today. You were trying to bring a load of laundry down the stairs and tripped on your bunny slipper (Yoongi always told you that they were a death trap for someone like you but they were so cute) and you went tumbling down the stairs. When you came to a stop you checked to see if you had any injuries and that’s when you felt the sharp pain in your arm and called your friend and ended up in the emergency room.

Thankfully the doctor finally walked back in, “Alright Miss Y/N. What color cast did you want? We have blue, green, red, purple, pink, and just plain white?” “Umm purple I guess.”, you responded without any enthusiasm. The doctor must’ve done this a thousand times because it didn’t take long at all and before you know it he was giving you the discharge instructions, “Keep the cast dry. Try not to over exert yourself. You’ll want to follow up with your doctor in six week to see about removing the cast. Also you’re probably going to have some pain so I’m giving you a prescription for some pain medicine. You can get it filled today at the pharmacy on the second floor.” You nodded and took the paper work before carefully stepping down off the table.

You were walking down the hall following the directions to the pharmacy but when you turned the corner you saw a familiar mop of black hair spilling out of a beanie and a black jean jacket. Turning to your friend you whined, “You seriously called him? I told you not to.” Your friend put her hands up in defense, “He kept texting me asking why you weren’t responding to his texts. I ran out of believable lies.” You then remembered how you had left your phone at home in a panic. Yoongi noticed you walking down the hall and immediately ran up to you carefully wrapping you in a hug. His eyes went wide when he saw the light purple cast on your arm before he gently lifted it up to inspect it. “Thank you for taking care of her. I can take it from here.”, he smiled at your friend. You thanked her as well and watched her walk off towards the exit.

Yoongi took the discharge papers and started reading over everything that the doctor had told you. Not that he didn’t trust you but he wanted to make sure he also knew everything that needed to be done. Without even speaking he took your non broken arm in his hand and began walking you towards the pharmacy handing the clerk your prescription and then taking a seat next to you, “Why didn’t you call me Y/N? I’ve been worried sick all day. First you didn’t respond to any of my texts and then I find out from your friend that you’re at the emergency room.” “I knew you’d come here and I didn’t want that.”, you replied. He scoffed, “And that would be so bad? Sorry I want to be informed when something happens to you.” You were exhausted and in pain and we’re starting to feel guilty for not only not calling Yoongi but now he was missing important meetings and whatnot and he was also mad at you and it all became too much. You began to sniffle, “I’m sorry. I just didn’t want you to worry. I knew you had a busy day and I didn’t want you to get in trouble for leaving. Of course I want you here but I didn’t tell you for your sake. You’re always taking care of me because I’m so clumsy and I jus-“. Yoongi leaned over and placed a kiss on your lips to shut you up. Then he wiped away some of your left over tears, “I’m not mad Y/N. I just got scared that you were in the hospital and I didn’t know why. You are always going to be more important to me than any schedule and I’m always going to be here to take care of you.” Feeling a little better you smiled and reached over to squeeze his hand. “I swear Y/N, I’m gonna wrap you in bubble wrap and then put you in one of those giant bubble things. I don’t think my heart can handle a life time of this.”, he chuckled and you giggled along with him.

The clerk called your name and Yoongi walked you up to retrieve your medicine and the two of you made your way to his car. After stopping to get some food you were glad to finally be back home. Yoongi was Yoongi and didn’t let you get a minute alone. Carefully he helped you undress and then wrapped your cast in plastic so you could shower. Since he knew you too well and he knew being one arm down would only make you clumsier he stood by the shower and helped you shampoo and condition your hair and he made sure you didn’t slip. After the shower he helped you get dressed and gave you another dose of your pain medicine and after following his nighttime routine he got in bed next to you pulling you close so you both could get some sleep after and exhausting day.

The following morning you woke up and looked over at your nightstand finding your pain medicine, a chocolate chip muffin with some strawberries, a glass of orange juice, and a note,

“I had to go to the company to catch up on some things I missed yesterday. When you get up take another pain pill but you can’t take it on an empty stomach so make sure you eat. I’ll be home around 3pm. Please just rest and don’t get any more hurt. I love you.”

You smiled as you took a bite of the muffin and that’s when you looked down at your cast and noticed some writing. You chuckled thinking about how at some point last night Yoongi must’ve doodled on your cast. Taking another bite of the muffin you smiled staring down at the picture of two cats sitting next to each other. One with a cast on their arm and wearing a ‘I heart Yoongi’ shirt and the other wearing a beanie and a basketball jersey. Slowly you got out of bed and as carefully as possible you carried the rest of your breakfast out to the living room to wait for Yoongi to return so you could thank him again.

#bts #bts fanfic #bts x reader #yoongi x y/n #yoongi imagine #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts yoongi #yoongi fluff #min yoongi #suga

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who-knew-a-sheep-can-write · 5 months

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Metal Moths: Bigby Wolf x Reader

Oh babe, I feel it. My messages are always open if you need to talk to someone, I'm always available to help out anyone I can.

Contains: Self-Depreciation, depressing thoughts

Something was off.

It didn’t hit him until he was gnawing on yet another cigarette bud that was burnt down to the filter did it suddenly click in his mind. It had been bugging him for the past few days but he couldn’t put his finger on it. It wasn’t unpaid bills or reports he had neglected to file, nothing like that of the sort. It felt… social? That kind of thing always stumped Bigby as he wasn’t really the social type, always avoiding the Remembrance Day bullshit and shying away from whatever events King Cole puts on to raise even more money for Fabletown.

He dropped his pen when he suddenly realized what exactly was missing, back straightening up quickly, his knees smacking against his desk that was too big for his comically small office that almost caused the piles of papers and folders filled to the brim to scatter across the semi-clean floors.

When was the last time he saw you?

Regret pinched at a nerve between his shoulders as he tossed the cigarette bud into the nearby trash. He ran a hand through his hair and scratched at his neck, leaning back in his chair as he ran through what he could in his mind of the past few days. He knows he saw you this week, that was for sure. He hadn’t seen much of you the past few days thanks to some fucked up case that practically pushed him down the rabbit hole, but he knew you had called the Business Office only for Bufkin to answer and take your message. You were asking for Bigby to come to your apartment, but he couldn’t make it.

He really wanted to. Honestly, he did. He would rather take the brunt of another silver bullet than do anything to hurt you, but unfortunately, this slipped through the cracks of his fingers like fine sand.

He stood up, wincing when a few folders slipped from their place on his desk and scattered the contents across the floor. He’d deal with it later.

He slipped out of his office door and trekked through the oddly empty halls. He strained his ears and sniffed at the stale air of the Woodlands, scoffing at the horrible air fresheners Snow had installed to raise the appeal of the damn place. It didn’t do much, the barely there floral scent did nothing to cover the decades of cigarettes, blood, sweat and tears these hallowed halls carried. It only distracted his nose from catching your scent to see if you were even home, the voice in the back of his head scolded him, asking him why he didn’t just call you from the old rotary he still had in his office.

But he caught your scent when he turned down the hall that contained your apartment.

Something was wrong.

Your scent wasn’t the usual ambrosia to his nose, the one thing he would always somehow find in the crowded city of Manhattan like a needle in a haystack. No. It wasn’t sweet like caramel or warm like coffee, but… dull? He didn’t know how to describe it, but he knew how it made him feel.

And he felt bad. He felt something bad looming over him and he felt something bad bubbling in the deepest pits of his guts.

He slowly approached your apartment and strained his ears. No sound came from inside, but he could hear the faintness of your heart beating away deep inside. It was slow, kept to an odd rhythm of neither rest nor active.

He knocked, knuckles lightly rapping at your chamber door. The key to your apartment was on his keyring, but he didn’t want to use it. He wanted you to get up, he wanted you to walk over to the door and open it, he wanted to see you upright and standing before his eyes to quell the worry that made the beast inside of him start to prickle with life. There was silence on the other end of the door yet again besides your heart beating, but it picked up upon him knocking. He even heard you take a quick breath in.

He knocked again, the worry about to bubble over into slight panic as he sniffed again. He couldn’t smell any blood whether it would be dry or fresh, but he could smell something else. Something salty. Were you crying?

He heard the sheets rustle, you had to have been tucked into your bed, curled in the sheets. His heart yearned for you to open the damn door so he can take care of you.

“(Y/n),” Bigby called. No answer. The silence was deafening to him as he heard his blood roaring through his ears. The hair on the back of his neck stood at attention, he felt the beast clawing at his spine for control he would never relinquish. He knocked again, a little louder this time. “(Y/n), are you in there?”

He heard your feet meet the floor inside, the covers being thrown away from your person as the bed creaked under your shifting weight. He took a step away from the door, eyes pinned on the doorknob as he heard the wooden floorboards of your apartment creaking as you slowly padded over. Were you… stumbling? It sounded as though you were, steps uneven and a little heavy for your usual gait.

Ironically, he waited for you at the door like a dog.

And when you opened the door finally with a heavy click of the lock turning, Bigby felt the panic snuff out inside of him when he saw that you were actually standing before him.

You looked like you had been dragged through hell and then some. Dark circles around your eyes, your irises were barely focusing on him and your under eyes were so puffy from crying. How long have you been crying for? Your cheeks were tacky with dried tear tracks and your lips were a little swollen from worrying at them with your teeth, your bottom lip even had a split in it from where you bit a little too hard. You were wrapped up in clothes that needed a good wash, the collar of the baggy sweater you were wearing was soaked from you probably wiping your tears away not too long ago.

Seeing you like this made the knife twist even harder in his gut.

“Hey Bigby,” your voice was so soft and so hoarse, it almost didn’t belong to you.

Your words were trembling, vocal chords strained from crying for so long. How long had you been like this? How long had he failed to realize something was wrong?

“Can I… come in?” Bigby found himself hesitating.

He had to. If he didn’t he didn’t know what would’ve come out of his mouth, and he’s a walking trap for accidents to happen as a lot of people would put it.

It was your turn to hesitate. You glanced tiredly over your shoulder back into your pitch black apartment before stepping away, giving him just enough room to allow him to squeeze past you before you closed the door behind him.

“Mind the mess,” you murmured as you sank down onto your couch.

Your curtains were drawn shut, blocking out the evening sun and the rows of neon lights that were slowly turning on for the night. There was the scent of something stale and bitter lingering in the air, it had Bigby wincing just a bit. It wasn’t pungent like cigarettes or food left out a little too long, but it was something else he couldn’t quite place.

He eyed you warily, stepping close to you as you stared mindlessly at some little spot on your rug that overall needed to be vacuumed. Something was haunting your mind and Bigby would be damned if you kept suffering alone in silence. You never let him be affected by this kind of stuff since you both had started seeing each other, and he’d rather be shot up with silver than let you pull a Bigby move.

“(Y/n),” he crooned softly, “what happened?” You didn’t answer at first, you just sat on the edge of your couch with your head in your hands and rubbed at your exhausted face. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come see-”

“It’s not your fault,” you pulled away to look up at him. “You’re the sheriff, you’re busy. I shouldn’t have been calling and bothering you, especially with that fucked up case that got slapped on your desk.”

“(Y/n), sweetheart, you’re not a bother to me.” He walked in front of you and crouched down, taking your soft hands in his calloused ones. He ran the pads of his thumbs over your knuckles and made direct eye contact with you. Fuck, seeing you like this, it really made him want to tell Snow and Cole to fuck off for a few days so he can stay here and help you. “You’re never a bother to me.”

“I just,” you hesitated as you pulled your hands away from his warm ones, “I feel like I’m… too much,” your gaze fell to your lap.

“Too much?”

Bigby placed one hand on your knee, his thumb rubbing soothing little patterns at the bend. Your skin was a little cold, he could feel it through the heat that radiated off of him constantly.

“I just- I don’t know. I… I feel awful that I called and I’m sorry that I did. It’s not fair to you. I really didn’t help with that and you-”

“Let me stop you right there.” His voice never rose in volume, it never got harsh. It was deep and rumbling like rolling thunder in the distance. He squeezed your knee to get you to look back up into his big brown eyes. “I love you. I’ll never stop loving you. I know I suck with words and all, but I really do care.” He could see your eyes getting all watery in the corners. “You’re never gonna be too much for me to love you.”

And with that, the tears finally shed as you collapsed into Bigby’s awaiting arms.

#the wolf among us #twau #bigby wolf #bigby x reader #bigby wolf x reader

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suzukiblu · 3 months

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Thank-you sentences for @dexdefyingstunts; mirrorverse!Clark and Kon’s daddy issues both get some. ( chrono || non-chrono )

“You know, I’ve really never met anyone as grateful for the opportunity to give me what I want as you, Kon-El,” Superman muses. He still sounds amused, and he crooks his fingers inside him. Kon comes that easy, even after everything else, his greedy and hurting cunt clenching down helplessly around those inexorable fingers and whole body shaking and stuttering with it, and he feels Superman’s smile widen against his temple.

He also feels like throwing up.

“Don’t go soft, princess,” Superman instructs like that’s even something Kon can control, and rubs the pads of his fingers along his inner walls again and again and over and over while Kon’s still trying to both recover from the orgasm and process the new endearment without his brain shorting out. His cunt throbs with much more pain than pleasure and his thighs tremble and his vision swims.

He doesn’t go soft at all.

“That’s my boy,” Superman hums approvingly, and Kon really almost does throw up. Then Superman slips his fingers back out of his abused and aching cunt and pets it a few more times, his slick and sticky fingers filthy with the mess of it.

Kon whines, just barely. It’s the only sound he can manage to make, and he can’t move at all. Everything’s too much, and he’s too heavy and exhausted and achy and oversensitive and it’s just too much. Even the inhuman warmth of Superman’s body just inside his personal space makes him feel nauseous and overwhelmed and like he just wants to melt into nothing and never, ever have to do anything again. Never have to feel anything again.

Superman smiles against his temple again, and offers up his slick and sticky hand with the same obvious certainty that Kon wants what he’s offering as he did after Kon hit his knees for him for the first time. Every inch of Kon’s body is too heavy and weak and burnt out to move. He didn’t feel this weak when he was fucking dying. If he even so much as lifts a finger right now, he is positive he’ll pass right back the fuck out and maybe not wake up until those engines finally start again.

But not for Superman, he’s just as positive, and somehow manages to open his mouth and lift his head just enough to meet him. Superman pushes his fingers into his mouth and down his throat just as inexorably as he pushed them into his cunt, just the same way he fucked his cunt with them, and Kon doesn’t even choke.

Not for Superman.

#clarkkon #kon el #conner kent #clark kent #superboy #superman #dubcon #dubious consent #dexdefyingstunts #wip: mirrorverse!clark and kon's daddy issues

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tin-wufborf · 2 months

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Tin's Favorite Sterek Fics (Part 10)

Hello party people! On Monday, I ate shit (fell) in my garage, so now my knee has the circumference of a small honeyed ham! Also, my ankle completely folded under me but is somehow fine?? Did I mention that I also closed one of my thumbs in the car door last weekend? I am unfit for survival, I think!

Anyway, I hope you're all doing better than I am lol. Thank you all again for the likes and shares, and I hope you all enjoy part 10.

Smoochies, squeezies, etc.

List and links to previous/next part(s) below the cut.

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DISCLAIMER: This is me warning you all that some of the fics I've included in this list may cover explicit, dark, and/or "taboo" subject matters. I cannot express enough how little I care what anyone thinks about any of that; all I want is for you to use caution when reading anything I've listed here and to please review and heed whatever tags the authors have provided in order to keep yourselves safe. Your experience from this point on is your own responsibility, not mine and not the authors'.

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Werewolves Can Love Too by hoars (NR | 1/1 | 2,190)

Home intruders should really know better.

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Ashes, Ashes by ShanaStoryteller (T | 1/1 | 2,699)

The Sheriff gets a call at work - someone's tried to burn down his home with his son inside.

"I thought of you coming here, and finding me dead, of another burnt out husk of a body, something else fire has stolen from you, of you having nothing left to grasp but ashes," John can't even call that a whimper, it's clearly a whine as Derek's hands tighten against Stile's hips, as if his boy will shudder to dust at the mere mention of the possibility unless Derek's hands can hold him into one piece, "and that thought was worse than dying."

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The dangers of deja-vu series by MsCee (2 works | G | 5,338)

1. Why deja-vu is a dangerous thing (G | 1/1 | 2,887) When something makes his new deputy seize up like only true love can, John Stilinski is prepared tease the ever-living hell out of him. He’s prepared to look up and see some pretty girl with a bit of an edge, with a loud laugh and a bright smile that could coax even his sullen deputy out of his frown. What he’s not prepared for is to look up and see a very familiar face ambling towards his desk. 2. Hindsight is 20/20 (G | 1/1 | 2,451) When John imagined having a grandkid, he naively assumed that his son’s quirks would be diluted by another set of genes. Given that there is currently a naked four year old on his porch, looking almost smarmy about the fact that even Derek can’t find his socks… Well, in hindsight, John really should have expected this.

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The Electric House of God, Forever by velveteenshadowboxer (E | 1/1 | 8,641)

The sheriff clears his throat. “You can tell me, you know. If he’s pressuring you. If he’s pushing you too far.” He hesitates. “You’re not afraid of him, are you?” he asks quietly.

Listening closely, Derek can just imagine Stiles’ amused smile, the way his mouth might quiver as he holds back a laugh. “No, Dad. He’s afraid of me.”

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Best in Show by thegirlgrey (T | 1/1 | 8,911)

Derek adopts a cat. Or a cat adopts Derek. It all depends on who’s telling the story really.

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Stutter and Shake by zosofi (T | 1/1 | 9,167)

The likelihood of a major quake of magnitude 7.5 or greater hitting California in the next thirty years is 46 percent.

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Flesh and Bone by theinspiredginger (T | 1/1 | 9,320)

Dean's trapped in Purgatory looking for his angel when a not so subtle kid in a red sweatshirt asks to team up. Dean takes Little Red Riding Hoodie underneath his wing as they try to escape.

Or the one where Stiles bargains with a witch to get sent to purgatory to save Derek and finds Dean instead. They work together to find a way out of Purgatory as they each look for their "person".

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Line In The Sand by kellifer_fic (T | 1/1 | 9,670)

He’s going to die.

Derek is certain of it. He'd used the last of his proverbial lives even though that’s only supposed to apply to cats, and he’s now going to die. He’s completely, one hundred percent resigned to it even, until he hears the familiar thump-ump of Stiles' heart approaching.

Suddenly, it’s Stiles that’s going to die and that’s unacceptable.

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The Chase by saltandbyrne (E | 1/1 | 10,435)

Derek's fourth Chase will be his last if he doesn't catch an omega this time. He's starting to doubt this whole soul-mate thing anyway, at least until someone from his past shows up and gives him the run of his life.

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Miles Away by sori (M | 1/1 | 12,509)

Maybe it should have felt like a bad thing, realizing that his pack wasn’t actually his anymore. He didn’t really want to admit that the day he looked around and saw Scott taking care of everyone, Derek breathed easily for the first time since he’d met Kate Argent.

(Story contains general season 3 spoilers, but doesn't follow strict season 3 canon.)

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Strong, Stronger, Strongest by Green (E | 1/1 | 16,248)

Close to death, Stiles can choose to die or accept Derek as his Alpha. It's up to the rest of the pack to heal him and face the Alpha pack threat.

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Dream of Life Again by BarlowGirl (E | 1/1 | 18,321)

“You better be ready,” Lydia says as she cleans dirt out from under her nails with an antiseptic wipe. Stiles can smell the lemon scent even from where he stands a few feet away. She’s probably going to end up covered in blood in a few moments, but she likes to be in control in any way she can, so he doesn’t tease her about this. “It’s time to start.”

“I’m ready,” Stiles says and he’s pretty sure it’s not even a lie. Hopefully.

Scott, Stiles, and Lydia each sit at one point of the triskelion that Lydia’s drawn on the tarp. The center is a tight knot of some language Stiles had never even heard of before this, written in ink in tiny writing. It’s beautiful and also makes him slightly nauseated. Lydia makes both cuts, so the blood drops from Stiles’ arm and Scott’s, too, into the center of the triskelion. There’s wolfsbane on Scott’s knife, not enough to make him sick, but enough to keep him from healing too quickly.

It’s a surprisingly simple thing, after that, for what they’re doing. Blood, a few words, and a little magic.

Just those things, and, for the first time in three years, Laura Hale gasps in a breath.

Or: Resurrected Laura!!!

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call me, maybe (but not in the library) by bibliosexual (E | 12/12 | 23,839)

There’s a long pause, and then: “You’re not Erica.” Stiles can’t help it. He snorts. “Yeah, no, dude, that’d be pretty difficult since I’m a guy.”

AU where Stiles is an undergrad at UCLA and Derek works in the university library.

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Maggie May by Spikedluv (M | 1/1 | 24,997)

When Laura Hale died, she left behind a daughter, Maggie. Stiles (and his dad) have been caring for Maggie since the night Laura disappeared. Unbeknownst to Stiles, however, Maggie’s a werewolf, and she’s bonded with Stiles. Which means he feels extra protective when Peter Hale appears on the scene. (He may have also developed a little crush on Maggie’s uncle, the silent and brooding Derek Hale. Who said Stiles’ life was boring?)

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Family by Choice series by FairyNiamh (3 works | G-T | 28,343)

Not all families are bound by blood.

1. Finding Family (T | 4/4 | 26,322) After finding a puppy, Stiles gets more than he expected and everything he could have hoped for. 2. Bath Time (G | 1/1 | 883) Stiles just wants to give Lily a bath. Why do toddlers and family have to be so tiring? 3. Festival of Family (T | 4/4 | 1,138) Now that Lily is 4, things need to change.

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Adventures and Explorations series by Survivah (2 works | T-M | 30,344)

1. A Simple Life (T | 2/2 | 13,763) Derek plans to spend the rest of his life holed up in the woods after Laura dies. Then he meets a stubborn young fox, and the stubborn young fox meets an urn of Deaton's magic powder, and his plans change. 2. Finding Miracles (M | 1/1 | 16,581) Stiles was planning on just being a fox for his entire life. Then, well, magic, true love, blah blah blah, things got complicated. But as it turns out, he still has a lot to learn about this new world he's living in. Humanity, man. It's weird. - Or, the sequel to A Simple Life, brought to you by popular demand.

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I'd Do Anything (for you) by LadySlytherin (E | 18/18 | 46,936)

Nearly two years after being possessed by the Nogitsune, Stiles is still trying to get a handle on things. Away at college, he feels more stable; more settled. But at home in Beacon Hills for summer break after his Freshman year at UC Berkeley, he is once again plagued by nightmares.

The thing is, Void left behind a thousand years worth of information in Stiles' head. Information that Stiles is slowly realizing can help undo some of the damage that was done to Beacon Hills.

Between bodies once again turning up in Beacon Hills and an increasingly close relationship with Derek Hale, Stiles has a lot on his plate. Factor in a talking tree, a sacred duty to the land, and some dead/not-dead drama, and Stiles is about to have one Hale of a summer.

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Everything that is Holding You Back series by herlovewasajoke (2 works | T-E | 49,147)

An AU in which Stiles is bitten while visiting family. The new alpha of Beacon Hills won't allow an omega in his territory... but he is willing to expand his pack.

1. Everything that is Holding You Back (T | 2/2 | 46,987) “I'm here because my son needs to come home, Mr. Hale,” the sheriff said, brushing aside any need for pleasantries. Derek would be grateful for that if he had any idea what the hell was going on. 2. Finding Comfort (E | 1/1 | 2,160) A follow-up to Everything that is Holding You Back, set roughly a year later. Stiles unexpectedly comes home from college on a Tuesday night. Wednesday morning is quiet and lazy.

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play it again series by metisket (3 works | T | 74,696)

1. Play It Again (T | 3/3 | 63,206) In which Stiles goes along with one of Derek’s plans and ends up in an alternate universe as a result. He should’ve known better. He did know better, actually, and that means he has no one to blame but himself. “Laura wants to lure the kid in with food and kindness and make a pet of him, like a feral cat. Derek wants to have him arrested for stalking. They’re at an impasse. (And the rest of the family is staying emphatically out of it in a way that suggests bets have been placed.)” 2. This Doesn't Hurt (T | 1/1 | 4,680) Melissa isn’t sure how she accidentally adopted a teenager, but she’s confident that somehow, it’s all Stiles Stilinski’s fault. 3. Kiss of Death (T | 1/1 | 6,810) It’s Stiles’s eighteenth birthday, and he may have made bold statements about jumping certain people on his eighteenth birthday. Out loud. With witnesses. But that’s fine—it’s nothing to stress about. It’s not like every single person he’s ever kissed got horribly murdered or anything. Oh wait, yes it is. It’s exactly like that.

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Building Something series by unpossible (6 works | NR-E | 76,527)

1. keeping the stars apart (T | 10/10 | 15,285) Derek watches that sharp brain come fully online. “Oh God,” Stiles says, and now he smells of embarrassment. “Fuck. I just- did I just have a fucking panic attack in front of Jackson?” “It’s okay,” he says simply. “Really. Is it.” Stiles sighs without looking up. “Well. At least I wasn’t naked.” 2. all we inherit (G | 5/5 | 7,631) “C’mon,” Stiles whines, half-turning. “You can’t drag me into your lap and then expect me not to want to hit that.” Mark dies a little at ever having heard that phrase come from his son’s mouth, let alone directed at an older, leather-jacket-wearing accused murderer with seemingly permanent three day growth. 3. howling and half hid (E | 12/12 | 24,512) The Sheriff has had some long, disturbing talks with Deaton, as well as the shaman who did Stiles’ tattoo, and the Stilinski house is now awash with mountain ash beams for boarding up doors and windows, and protective runes carved on the roof beams at the four compass points. Stiles suspects his Dad also stocked up on rock salt, just in case Supernatural turns out to be a documentary. 4. formidable from a distance (G | 1/1 | 2,058) So now it’s a beautiful crisp morning and the house is full of family. They’ve shredded their way through a half-ton of brightly colored wrapping paper and Ellie’s squeals have attained a pitch Derek didn’t know human throats could reach. 5. a slow way (NR | 6/6 | 13,704) “Stiles. We need to talk.” He goes cold all over. “What?” “To talk,” Derek repeats, and how’s that for fucking irony? Derek. Wants to talk. “We don’t need to talk,” Stiles says, sharp and fast, “we’re fine, everything’s fine. Why would we need to talk?” 6. into the ripe air (NR | 5/5 | 13,337) “Stiles,” Ted says as he rounds the front of the car. His eyes flick to Derek, and then to James, and there’s an indefinable change in his face that has Stiles’ shoulders tightening and he takes a long, slow breath, the better to take careful hold of his temper, because there are consequences for everything he says and does now, and he’s not a sixteen year old smartass anymore.

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#teen wolf #sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #sterek fic rec list #sterek fic rec #fic rec list #rec list #fir rec #tin's rec lists

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soft-for-them · 2 years

Text

Green first aid kit - Billy Hargrove x plus size reader

Summary: Back at school you find Billy worse for wear.

Trigger warning: This part does mention Billy's abuse and him having an injury from a fight, the fight isn't described or shown though.

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated and help more people read my works.

Part one - Part two - Part three

Come Monday morning Billy Hargrove wasn’t at first period History sitting near you passing notes, neither was he hanging around before class waiting for you with a big grin, nor was he slipping in after the teacher had left so he can talk to you, he was nowhere to be found at all.

Deep down you wished for him to be hiding near your locker in between the small nook where a fire extinguisher and fire alarm sits, him dressed in his denim jacket, his hair fluffy and curled. He would come up with a reason why he wasn’t there, something along the lines of hating your history teacher with all his heart or sleeping in late and missing most of the lesson. But no, when you rushed over to your locker he wasn’t there, he wasn’t anywhere.

He wasn’t in for the whole day, you knew for sure for you overheard a cheerleader bitching about it like she was entitled to flirt with Billy, like he was expected to come to school every day to flirt with only her.

To think you wore a nice peach sun dress to school just so maybe he’d see you and call you princess again.

So the next day you’re uncharacteristically angsty, every second your eyes flicking to the clock above the chalk board then to the nearest door wondering if he’d walk in all smirks and no apologies. Normally you love second period English Literature but you're too fidgety to listen in to your teacher talk about Shakespeare and sonnets, the Tuesday morning classes dragging on too long.

You are leaned into the small desks more than normal, the wood of the table pressing into your stomach more, your mind stuck on Billy fucking Hargrove’s face and not on the bold writing on the board that states you have homework due in next week.

Truly you would be lying to yourself if you said last night you didn’t have a dream of Billy, that the dream felt so real that you worried somehow it was and that something terrible had happened whilst you were sleeping. It’s stupid and frankly untrue having such a vivid dream about waking up at the bottom of a swimming pool only to be saved by Billy, the sky a dark purple, the grass coloured like burnt ash and Billy looking like the living dead could never be true.

Well you hope it never does.

If you were one of those zodiac sign, gem stone collector, ‘what time where you born?’ women then maybe you could deduce a meaning from the dream but really you’re too tired and too on edge to think up one.

Maybe you’ll ask a stoner friend about the dream’s meaning, minus mentioning Billy, then maybe you can get some answers about it.

Lunch time comes along and you feel too sick to eat any cafeteria food, so with a brief ‘goodbye’ to your small group of friends paired with a weak excuse to ditch gossip time you hurry out the double doors of the cafeteria, down the many hallways and out the nearest exit only your purse in your pockets.

Technically it’s still summer but the impending autumn winds are slowly coming in, a warm gust of air jostling your baggy jeans, bits of white thread from the rips at your knees and on the inside of your thigh blowing upwards, the sleeves to your t-shirt whipping around your chubby upper arms. Really your outfit today is the bare minimum, you’re trying to look like you’re not having a bad day, a stark opposite to yesterday’s dressed up outfit. The thigh hole in your ancient jeans are from years chub rub and the holes in the knees from before you hit puberty, younger you having to buy bigger sized jeans from the adult section thus tripping over the bottoms of them every five minutes for you were a middle schooler who hadn’t had a growth spurt yet.

The joys of being plus size am I right…

For a moment you wonder if you can sneak out and find the nearest shop to get a snack, you’re used to walking long walks in short amount of time, most days you do that because you don’t own a car. You could really go for some overly sugary candy from a gas station or a pre-packaged baguette (which you’d only eat half of, the rest of it getting crammed into your locker for later on), anything other than the grey school lunch burgers with watery ketchup or stale vending machine crisps that coast too much.

Like always there’s a decision to be made; walk to the nearest shop most certainly being late for maths after lunch or just take a breather outside on an empty stomach, not being late for the next class.

Whilst some would call you a goody two shoes for always being in all your classes, the overwhelming feeling of dread, that feeling of hunger mixed with the sickness that comes with not wanting to walk back into the school building until you feel better takes over you. Everyone gets it one way or another, the people who are too worried about attendance tend to stay in the classrooms until they explode and break down while others frequently skive off school opting to smoking weed and kiss girls to chill out. You’re of sound mind and sound idea that calming down before heading back inside is the best course of action, maybe even touching some grass will get you mind off Billy Hargrove and maybe quell the gargling nervousness in your stomach.

But then again you need to eat, that and you fucking hate maths.

So it’s decided that you’re going to the shops, the walk and food will make you feel better in no time!

Scuffed shoes pick up gravel as you walk across to the car park, a hand digging into a pocket to make sure your purse is securely in place. You’re in no rush however you do dodge around the many parked cars in a certain way to make sure no teachers see you sneaking away, not that they’d really care all that much but there’s always that one teacher who likes to snitch on students.

You walk pass familiar cars of classmates, narrowly avoiding eye contact with a band kid you know inside his car trying to make moves on his girlfriend. You clamber up and onto the grass nearing an exit to the school, hands in your pockets and eyes looking out for moving cars.

The sun shines on the exit like a place maker in a video game, so you speed up your steps to get out as fast as you can not wanting to explain to any faculty why you’re sneaking out but then you see it.

Parked underneath some over grown trees, shielded by chunky pickup trucks and station wagons borrowed from parents is a car so familiar that it makes you stop mid step. The grey 79 Camaro sits dormant and shaded, from where you stand you can see the driver’s sun visor flipped down and the car is completely turned off, the engine not revving or spluttering.

Now the right thing to do is just to carry on your walk not going over there to see if it’s actually Billy’s 79 Camaro and not somehow another Camaro some jock copying Billy has bought to seem cool but you’ve been worrying about the ‘king’ of the school for the last two days so you shift your step and head over to the low down car.

*Tap* *Tap* Tap*

You lean over somewhat, the bumper of the car pressing into your legs as you tap the wind shield of the car, a very asleep Billy Hargrove in the front seat. His denim jacket covers his face from beams of sunlight that cut through the trees through the front window, his hands balanced on his toned stomached, fingers knitted together.

You shimmy around to the driver’s side squishing in between his Camaro and the truck next to it tapping on the side window.

“Billy.” you call quietly not wanting to blow your cover to anyone else sitting in their car. You look around before banging the window some more, your knuckles hurting just a bit as you knock on the thick glass.

“Billy!” whisper shouting isn’t doing it, “BILLY!”

Your voice turns stern but almost needy, the fear in your head that someone might catch you and drag you away ever present as you bend down slightly so you’re at eye level with the sleeping man. Your body presses against the other car, your face turning sour as you stop knocking.

Stepping out from the cars, still close but no longer trying to wake up Billy, you debate whether or not you should leave a note or something like him.

You frown at the idea, firstly because you only have a purse on you but also because what would you write to him if you did have a piece of paper and a pen?

“Hey, you missed history – (y/n).” no, he never promised that he would be there, you just assumed he would be.

“Sleepy head see you at the pool. – (y/n).” no, no, no. You don’t want to seem weird, you don’t want him to think that you’re planning on going back to the pool on the weekend just for him. Anyway you have work this weekend so it’s not like you could go either way.

Maybe you could just leave you home phone…. Fucking hell no, that’s the worst idea you’ve had yet.

Really when you saw Billy’s car you didn’t go other there to flirt, really you’re just worried. Whilst your interactions with the Cali man have been all positive as of late you’ve heard things, you’ve seen the things his so called ‘friends’ do, you’ve seen his dad around town and you keep clear of him.

The family members you live with have told you about Neil Hargrove and well you do not like the sound of him one bit.

You hover around still wondering what to do before spinning around and walking away from the car, your plan to get food foiled, the frown on your face now permanent for you know you’ve wasted enough time banging on the car window that you can’t go to the shop without missing maths.

“Fuck!” you mutter, your eyes going back to the Camaro.

Now sat up, jacket off his face, his eye wide and staring right back at you, Billy Hargrove looks out of place, no thoughts in his head, not like the normal smirking flirt you’ve come to know. You raise a hand to give him a little wave which snaps him out of his momentary mind blank. He lifts a hand up back which prompts you to walk back over.

“Roll the widow down.” you say with a little hand gesture once you get to the car.

He does so.

There staring up at you with the eyes of a scared child, his baby blues so watery and wide that they look like the sad sea, his left eyelid a deep purple bruise.

His left eye must have been swollen shut at one point for his eyelid is still a bit droopy.

“Billy…”

You don’t intend your voice to be so wobbly when you say his name, your own (e/c) eyes watering up but your voice wavers and your eyes fill with salty water.

“I’m fine princess.” he barely gets out, “Just lost a fight Sunday night, that’s all.”

Fuck. You don’t want him calling you princess when he’s so sad. You selfishly want him calling you princess when his eyes are filled with mischief or even lust, not when he’s about to burst into tears.

He must think you’re pitying him for he looks away his forehead hitting the top of the steering wheel.

“Billy-“ his eyes flicker to yours, his curly blonde hair half covering the side of his face, “- I was going to walk to the shops but-“

You try to think of how to say your next words without sounding like you’re demanding a free lift from the obviously dejected man in front of you.

“-Do you want to come with me? I, well, we can share some food.”

He nods his head ‘yes’.

You don’t have a lot of money, that is clear, but today you have enough loose coins and crunched up dollar notes to pay for the things you need.

You enter the small out the way shop, the bell above the door stuck and not ringing. The shop used to be a petrol station before the chain company that owned it went bankrupt, now it’s just a shop with the worst painted parking lines you’ve ever seen.

The man behind the till tilts his head up from his newspaper, his puffy eyes staring you down as you shuffle past a rack of crisps into an aisle filled with cupboard food. The metal shelves that tower above you are packed with every kind of dry food you’d ever need. Your eyes flicker from boxed yellow pastas to dusty lidded jars of red unnamed sauces. You move along, wallet tightly in your hands as you walk down the aisle to the very back of the shop where the wall to ceiling freezers and fridges sit. For a moment you look in the freezer a frozen mac n’ cheese catching your eyes.

Whilst the family you live with do cook the odd meal for you most of the time they’re out the house so you have to cook for yourself and well, the fridge-freezer at home is very much empty at the moment. There is probably some stuff in the cupboards but normally you don’t bother with that food for the last time you ate some cupboard food (some half stale frosted flakes) you were yelled at.

It would be nice to have a warm meal tonight, even if it’s a microwave meal, but you have to go back to school and having a frozen ready meal in your bag does not sound like a good idea. You cringe at the thought of the flimsy plastic getting pierced by a rouge pencil and spilling throughout your bag.

Ew, no thank you!

Instead you walk over to the fridges filled with soft drinks.

Up close you can tell the fridges aren’t actually on, the little orange filament lights off and the drinks bone dry. It doesn’t bother you that much, you’re only planning on getting some drinks and not a whole meal of probably gone off food. Anyway, from working at shop yourself you’ve seen much worse things, you just glad that there isn’t any fuzzy mould on the bottle caps.

Quickly you open the sliding door and take out a boxed grape juice and a bottled flavoured water, the inked words ‘summer fruits’ smudged. You would love to have a milkshake right about now but you stay away from the milks on the bottom shelf, you face scrunching up in disgust.

You walk around the shop some more, not caring for any of the junk being sold. You do however find yourself at the sweets section. The little shelf is filled to the brim with colourful candy and plastic junk toys, everything from chocolate bars to lollypops shaped like diamond rings.

A small packet of hard boiled sweets catches your eyes, the red and white striped plastic bag reminiscent of the paper bags at fun fairs or cinema pick n’ mixes, the little clear window showing individually wrapped sweets in every colour known to man.

A yellowed price sticker sloppily placed over the logo says it’s only a dollar fifty so you pick the bag up to buy. You shove the bag between your fingers and the drinks, you other hand free with your wallet lodged between your arm and chest.

Slowly but surely, your eyes flickering all around to see if you’ve missed anything you might want as you arrive to the front counter.

The front counter is high up, a thick plastic pane with hand prints and unknown splashes of stuff shielding the man and the shelf filled with cigarettes from grabby hands and angry eyes of disgruntled customers. There’s a big enough a hole in the plastic that the man, a forty something year old with red irritated eyes and a bold spot a monk would be jealous of, can look at you with judging eyes whilst scanning your items.

“You better not want any alcohol Miss.” says the man. Despite his less than stellar looks he sounds more sad and fed up than judgemental or creepy, he probably get too many teenagers with fake ID’s coming in along with out of towners with visible guns on their hip.

“No alcohol just these-“ you say with an awkward smile, “-oh, but um is that for sale?”

Your eyes catch onto a flash of green hung sat snug in between a giant jug of vodka and a line of off brand cold remedies.

It’s a small first aid kit.

You point to it hoping that your finger isn’t pointing to the vodka.

“The first aid kit, yeah, it is.”

“How much?”

The man says the price making you visibly frown. The price isn’t much considering it’s a first aid kit but you’re not sure you have the right amount for it.

“I’ll take it.” you say as you place your items down and begin taking out handfuls of coins.

You know you are a dollar short as you recount your crumpled dollar bills. You look up to see that the man has already bagged your stuff including the first aid kit.

“I might have to put something back.” you sheepishly say.

“Nah, have it.” He passes you the bag, “If you’re needing a first aid kit then you’re needing it, you know? I don’t want anyone bleeding out because you were a dollar short and didn’t have it.”

“Thank you.” you’re really at a loss for words but you get you thanks out.

“I don’t own this place anyway, I only work here.” he says with the smirk of a man who often nicks a pack of smokes off the back shelf without the shop owner knowing.

You talk some more before walking out the shop, the pack of sweets already in hand, your fingers digging into the bag to find a sweet that isn’t strawberry flavoured. As soon as you pull out a bright green sweet you look up to see a pair of red rimmed steely blue eyes staring right at you.

Billy, eyes wide like a deer in the middle of a road watches intently as you walk over to his 79 Camaro (which is parked somewhat awkwardly in the wobbly lines of the parking space.) The car is parked close to the shop, right at the front of it in fact and ever since you were in the shop his gaze has been locked on the front door for the shop windows are covered in posters and adverts blocking any view of you inside he could have had.

For ten minutes Billy has been frozen still waiting for you to reappear so he can finally let out a long breath. He looks like he hasn’t blinked in the short time you were inside, his baby blues watery, the welling of tears threatening to spill once more.

“Want one?” you ask as you slide into the passenger seat, the bag of sweets shoved on the centre console closer to Billy.

Billy does not say anything, he just breathes like he just run a mile his chest heaving as large amounts of air enter his lungs.

“Billy?” you ponder, your voice small and quiet, “Billy.”

His eyes snap onto yours. For a moment you see something, a glimmer of fear maybe, in his eyes before his face droops.

“Hey, hey, hey-“ you begin, your body leaning over the centre console, hands grasping onto his arms as lightly as you can, “- you’re ok, I’m not going to hurt you.”

He looks like a wounded animal.

“Billy-“ you go to say something, something that probably wouldn’t help in the long run but something so he can hear you over his very present running mind.

Before you can though his right hand shoots up and grabs your forearm, his digits digging into your soft skin.

He doesn’t know if he wants your hands off him or if he’s forcing you not to move. Billy thinks for a long time his fingers flexing and relaxing but not letting go of your arm before said hand grabs at your own hand, his longer thicker fingers intertwining with yours in a death grip.

With you other hand, which you quickly take off his arm, you rifle through your plastic bag and pull out the two drinks along with the little first aid box.

“Here, take ‘um.” With your fingers aching from clutching three things at once Billy eventually takes the drinks and the first aid kit, his eye focusing on the first aid kit especially, “I have no clue what’s in the kit but I thought you could keep it in the car if you got in another fight…”

“…How do you know it was a fight?”

“Bruises that big don’t come from bumping into corners or falling down stairs.” you should know, you’ve bumped into many table corners and tripped down the stairs too many times to count and you’ve never gotten an injury that big and angry.

The car goes silent for a while the only sounds of you trying to quietly crunch the sweets and Billy unzipping the first aid kit to look inside it. There’s the normal inside; plasters that are an odd pale peach colour, gauze and safety pins, a couple individually wrapped antiseptic wipes, old yellowing instructions printed on thin paper and a small gel compress to help with swelling and aches.

“Thank you.” Billy whispers, his hands now clutching at the green first aid kit rather than your hand.

His eyes are trained down on the cross adoring the kit, the two drinks on his lap long forgotten.

“I-I know that home life ain’t that good-“ you start, not knowing exactly where you’re going with the conversation, “- but I’m here for you.“

“You don’t know what’s going on princess, you can’t help.” Billy says now looking at you.

“But I know about your dad, that’s how you got that isn’t it?” you vaguely point to his bruised eyes.

His eyes flicker away from yours giving you the answer you didn’t want but already knew.

“I don’t know much Billy-“ you duck down to catch his eyes, a small smile forming on your pretty face, “- but I do know that I wouldn’t piss on him if he was on fire because men like him wouldn’t even say thank after saving them, they’d just carry on like normal hurting and breaking everything in their way.”

Billy would have smirked at your words but his eyes have gone too wide in shock.

“Why don’t we skip maths hey?” you ask grabbing his hand in a warm but tight grip.

“Sure princess.�� He finally replies with a small smile.

A/N: If you want a part four please send in an ask rather than commenting for another part, this is just because asks are an easier way for me to track requests. Comments are still welcomed and requests are open!

#not proof read #billy hargrove x plus size reader #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove #stranger things x reader #stranger things x plus size reader #stranger things #plus size reader #x plus size reader

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stockingshypnopantyhoseleggings · 10 months

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*snap* I awoke feeling woozy, like I had been drugged, I shook my head, I couldn’t seem to remember the last few hours.

Then a voice said ‘how do you feel?’, I immediately responded, ‘I am deeply hypnotized’ the voice said again, ‘do you feel OK’, I immediately blurted out ‘I am deeply hypnotized, I am ready to serve’

‘Go to the mirror’ the voice said, ‘yes master’ I replied, these responses felt natural and just came out of my mouth.

‘Now’ said the voice, ‘What do you see?’ ‘I see a sensual woman’ I mindlessly responded. ‘How does that make you feel?’ the voice ask ‘I am deeply hypnotized master’

Something inside me felt strange, I knew I was a man, but somehow in the mirror was this sensual woman wearing black stockings, matching silk lingerie, high heeled boots and a full face of make up.

‘Does what you see turn you on?’ The voice asked, at which point I felt myself get incredibly hard, and my cock started throbbing, ‘yes master, I am turn on for master’

‘Down on your knees slave’ the voice commanded, without a moments hesitation, I dropped to my knees

‘What is your mantra?’ The voice demanded, I started to repeat:

‘My master is my thoughts, my thoughts are my master, I live to serve him’

And I kept repeating this and it felt true.

As the voice approached me, he said ‘Pleasure is obedience, obedience is pleasure, you want to please me don’t you slave?’ ‘Yes master’ I responded and my mouth dropped open.

I could see my masters engorged cock coming towards me, ‘this is wrong’ I thought, but it feels so right. The master slipped his cock in to my mouth and started to thrust in and out.

He tapped me on the forehead and commanded ‘gag reflex off’ at which point I could feel the head of his cock touch the back of my throat.

I was surprised I didn’t gag at his huge cock in my throat, or at the pre-cum trickling down.

As he thrust harder and harder, I could feel my own cock making the satin panties I was wearing increadibly wet with my own pre-cum.

My master let out a load moan as his cum shot to the back of my throat forcing me to swallow, god it tasted good, I wanted more, so I continued to suck until ge came again.

He tapped me on the forehead and said ‘slave cum now and hard’ at which point I shot my load inside the panties I was wearing and over the floor between my legs.

‘Sleep’ said the voice, and drifted off in to a deep deep sate of relaxation and trance.

When I awoke, I was back to my normal self, still with the salty taste in my mouth, by no longer wearing the lingerie and heels, and weirdly back at my apartment.

I saw a note, so I read it, it simply said ‘forget’ at which point I immediately burnt the note and thought to myself, ‘forget what’ and went about my day.

#hypnotism #blank #brain washing #mind control #stilletto heels #sexy nylons #brainwashing #hypnotized #hypnok1nk #hypnosis #kidnap fantasy #hypno toy #hypnofetish #hypnotic #hypnotist

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owldim · 1 month

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over it or not over with or not i don’t want to be involved in the “over” in or out i’m done with you but so are you but your “done” uncannily sounds like a “down to” not sexually or romantically even but perhaps emotionally so over it or over with please don’t bring me down with you as i have burnt myself inside out with your flame you call “love” and if it takes me to come over and go down on my knees and beg then i’m ready to be over it or over with you demand things from me you yourself cannot achieve while over estimating both of our abilities and still think of yourself as an underachiever bringing yourself down please don’t make me end it anew repeating the process over and over again because this has now become a loop that comes down to getting this over with or getting over it and somehow nothing has changed yet we have grown tiered of growing over the time “us” was still a thing and still looking over on the past with reminiscence and nostalgia and melancholy while we cannot get over it or over with it

-a

(old poem from 2022)

#original poem #poem #poetry #creative writing #mental health #poetic #poets on tumblr #vent #writing #writers and poets #vent post #personal

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syn4k · 9 months

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my design notes for the mianite s2 cast (put under a cut because Long + mentions of s/h at one point):

in general i think that those who've lived in town the longest (especially Tucker and Sonja) are the ones whose clothing has been most affected by the world and era's fashion. they kind of look like they come from the 1800s and of course the other two champions bully them relentlessly for it but i like to think that tom exchanged the button up under his suit blazer for one of those ruffle front shirts because he liked how it looks, essentially making him look like the world's most genre and time-bending wizard ever, especially with the hat.

jordan

after really getting into the various engineering/mechanics/technical mods and getting shocked/burnt/etc enough times, he finally exchanged his basketball shorts for some reinforced knee pants and a plain white t-shirt with one of those pockets on the front, although nobody ever really sees it because he's wearing crazy armor most of the time.

wears steel-toed boots when working on technical stuff and sneakers the rest of the time

3 billion pockets with random shit in it (cool rocks, random trinkets, etc)

looks Absolutely Insane in the best way. none of his outfit actually fits together but somehow he makes it work

waglington

so a quick sidenote. i know he has a skin and everything however in my brain all of the wizards look like some variation of this:

(essentially "little guys who live in assorted hats due to being cursed by the gods after their hubris was revealed.")

however! this does not stop me from adding little details where i want, such as:

in s1, wag was basically confined to a wizard hat due to the restrictions of the world he was in. in s2 this is no longer the case and he has acquired many hats all with their own enchantments (though 90% of the ones he wears regularly are really durable).

this makes it look really fucking funny whenever he's doing Anything because when hes flying around you just see a hat holding a regular sized sword. when hes doing magic you see a hat in the middle of a firestorm or whatever. during the Purge he can sneak up on people really easily due to essentially being a hat. nobody has ever seen what lives under the hat and nobody has ever successfully tried to look inside without being killed

he's applied various odds and ends to his hats as the season goes on! (i.e patches, mends, embroidered runes and sigils). all rings and items are kept on his person, but it's generally accepted amongst the rest of the champions that his inventory space is located within the hat itself

sonja

out of all of the champions, she absolutely looks the coolest. everyone looks like losers next to her no matter what the situation is. eyeliner on point, has a fuckin Flying Orb She Balances On, you know the deal

has actual fox ears! this is only visible when the hood of her hoodie is back, though, which she doesn't do often except for when working on magic stuff for better visibility

pink everything if she can manage it <3 she has a theme and she sticks to it

tom

found one of those ruffle front button up shirts and wears it with his usual suit outfit. steve found him a green bow tie to wear with it so it still works!

likes to float around and do flips in the air and go all sorts of angles while flying. it is Very Distracting but he's having fun with it so who cares

engineered his hammer- sorry, wang- to look exactly like an upside down dick and balls while it's being used. he thinks this is the funniest thing ever and honestly it kind of is

tucker

(self-harm mention here!)

very pale and with constant eyebags and red eyes/pupils from working with blood magic

arms absolutely covered in cutting scars, also from working with blood magic

wears his ash ketchum cap on top of his crazy strong fantasy ass looking armor which frankly looks fucking stupid but he does not care

steve

tons of old scars, both from being a former fighter and a farmer

still wears farmer's clothing but don't be fooled, he Knows how to use the sword at his side

australian flag patch on his sleeve and as a sticker on his chestplate

very casual practiced movements despite his apparent age, even when doing kickass shit

martha

light purple eyes. makes her look like she's blind. she is not

transfem swag for YEARS

just as much at home in fighting gear as she is in a skirt!

andor

has long hair but keeps it up in a bun under his wooden helmet (that's why he always wears it) (yes hes also transgender)

can i just say that i love the fingerless gloves. that was an awesome design choice. the designers knew what they were doing with that one

#ray's tag #mcyt #mianite #undescribed #s/h mention

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hecatombi · 1 year

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001. MISC. PHYSICAL HEADCANONS

(( here is a bunch of miscellaneous physical headcanons i have about the guys, going from the ones with the least changes to the most! Vash and Chai .. are going to have a lot more due to the nature of my insane fixation on them. ))

👇THIS IS A LONG ASS POST! YOU'VE BEEN WARNED.👇

ASH WILLIAMS

Ash has five different prosthetic hands, and several chainsaw stumps to attach to his hand.

He prefers to keep his hair as swoopy and voluminous as he had it in army of darkness ( even old ash. sorry ihate his slick combed back look )

GARY GOODSPEED

Gary naturally has heterochromia and blue + brown eyes, but after his possession by invictus, they are a striking bright pink. and it's permanent! Here's a ref i drew of him with them.

Post invictus, he grows his hair out and wears a far more complicated outfit. Like the concept art for the FS graphic novel.

JOSEPH JOESTAR

On top of having a prosthetic right arm, Joseph ALSO has a prosthetic left leg. This is because of the fact that LAVA HIT HIS KNEE CAP IN THAT FINAL BATTLE WITH KARS THERE IS NO WAY THAT DIDN'T DESTROY IT BEYOND REPAIR!!!!! So, double amputee.

When he is upset or mad, Joseph's hand clicks and wriggles around every joint independantly, and it is typically the only tell that he's angry or upset in any way if he's trying to hide the fact.

Joseph's arm was made by the SPW. not. who they're from in canon. <:) On top of that, it has several different functions, and a different appearance from canon. There are 5 star shaped buttons on it with varying uses. I.. still need to decide them, though.

He is NEVER ever seen without the remaining burnt headband of Caesar's. Ever. A common stim he has is twirling the ends of it.

CHAI

Now, i have a big ol' about page coming for Chai soon, but let's start here.

To get things out of the way; Chai has HORRIFICALLY poor vision. He refuses to get glasses though, because he is certain it makes him look like a nerd. He really, REALLY NEEDS THEM though. He's more farsighted.

Chai always had arrhythmia and other heart defects before his surgery at Vandelay. On top of that, he did not have mobility in his left arm at all, which is why he went in for the arm surgery. They told him they'd help with his heart too, but ...

.. the MP3 player + core replaced his heart entirely. And also gave him top surgery for free, even though he'd been too poor to afford it, as his breasts got in the way of the core. However, his top scars are more than just that; there are thick scars, branding him with the vandelay logo down his entire torso, becauuuuse...

His insides and organs had to be reworked to physically accept such a drastic change to his body. I'm talking moved around, and more than just his heart and arm replaced with robotics.

He straight up is an eldritch, terrifying mess of organs and wires in there. He doesn't know how much of him is robotic and how much is organic anymore. I draw this from the factt hat when electrocuted, Chai's skeleton shows up -- but his skeleton also includes the magnetic waste management tool in his arm, as well as the fact that the things he survives physically NOBODY ELSE CAN. AT ALL. like jesus christ he is somehow so resilient to things literally nobody else in game is under the same circumstances. Also, his body and brain can be hacked directly from his arm. You can't do that with organics, only tech.

So... that's why I think he's more robot than person now. Or cybernetic, if you want to get technical. W/e

His life span has been extended by an unknown amount, and he will age significantly slower if at all due to this change in his body. Oh, and the outer shell of the arm is made of a compound that is not metal. Dont know what it is, but it's still just as strong and durable.

It is possible for Chai to sync with other robotic beings in the same way he synced with 808( his cat ); you have a 50/50 chance of hearing the music that always plays in his head forever, like 808 now does, OR hearing the world moving to a musical beat for the rest of your life. Until he dies, anyways -- if / when he does.

His music core is shown to thump and beat like a heart, and if it pounds hard enough, it's enough to jerk his chest and cause him to get a little dazed-- it's definitely uncomfortable when it thumps so hard. I think he watches it cause he's nervous if his heart is fucking up or something, given that was a BIG health anxiety his entire life. Only 808 managed to snap him out of it, as you can see here.

Speaking of that, post surgery? He LITERALLY can not process anything beyond music and beat he can not hear. For the rest of his life, he will always move to a beat nobody can hear; the environment makes music around him; you can see in this example here how everything in the environment and even his own movements fall largely to the beat of the song. See the video below for an example of this.

youtube

He will never be able to hear or see the world regularly again. Not that Chai minds; he LOVES music. Adores it, even. He'd be happy to live with this the rest of his life. Which is good, cause he really has to.

He picked up cat tendencies from 808 when they synchronized, just as 808 picked up chai mannerisms ( like the way he fights & love of rock and roll ). They often mirror each other because Chai is influencing 808's expression more than you'd think! They pretty much share a single braincell now.

And, to close it all off; the surgery also gave him insane durability, as already discussed.. but it ALSO gave him nuts dashing techniques, and an ability to jump to a ridiculous degree. He's a very sturdy man now!

VASH SAVEREM

Vash only LOOKS human, but as we know, he certainly ISNT. He's a Plant; an independant variety, which is exceedingly rare. Plants are strange fusions of literal plants, angels, and mechanical blueprints that all meld together to make a more techno-organic being.

Because he only LOOKS human, I have PLENTY of hc's about his body and form and how they actually differentiate from your typical human.

First and foremost; he's trans. ALL plants are born female, no exceptions, as said by canon; which makes vash canonically trans. Pretty cool, right? but, in canon, where he doesn't have this -- he has plant private parts ( flower based ) and one of his breasts left. He has no desire to bind or for top surgery, as his chest is small anyways -- but he lost one of them a long time ago. More about the state of his body later, but this is important to still note.

Now, his teeth. He has fangs that he has filed down to look smaller, but they are still pretty sharp. His teeth are NOT defined like a humans; it's like .. kind of a solid plate of metal for bone? Teeth? With only vague outlines of where they should separate.

His eyes are an unnatural piercing blue, which we already know; however, the reason he wears those big orange glasses may surprise you! They're actually marksman glasses, which are known to be orange; however, they also serve as a neutralizer to his eyes. If you look at his glasses head on, through them, his eyes look like a neutral blue-gray. However, if you take off his glasses, they're still a BRIGHTLY inhuman blue.

And yes, they glow in the dark.

In BLUE and UV LIGHT specifically, his plant marks will show no matter what. Though, in blue light, they're much fainter / mostly in the eyes ( and they make them glow as you see in the example below ), while in UV all light patterns are exposed. When he heals plants, these also become pretty visible -- but if he has too use TOO much of his angelic power, one of two things could happen.

He goes comatose and unresponsive for a short while; blank stare, unable to react or process anything around them. Sometimes he can snap out of it, sometimes he can't. It really depends.

His hair will brown or blacken. If you know what this means, have a gold star! If you don't, this means he is ACTIVELY shortening his life span and using too much of his power at once. When a plant's hair browns or blackens, it means they no longer have limitless energy.

Side note; since we see that since birth, Vash has had BROWN EYEBROWS ( whereas all plants are born with blonde hair and blonde eyebrows, and blue eyes, NO MATTER WHAT ); i have a headcanon that because Nai is based on a toxic albino plant that was never meant to live in the reboot, he subconciously saved Nai at birth. He was always the stronger twin in terms of health, where Nai was sicker.

Also .. despite his glasses being pretty normal marksman glasses, he can do this thing where he reflects everything in the environment BUT his eyes subconciously; it's a big tell that he's trying to stay distant and not let people read his next expressions. He often does this to distance himself or when he's being vague. It happens a bunch in moments specifically where he does that in show, so im adopting that as a little weird plant quirk he can do. Call it manipulation of light and reflection, I suppose, since he IS a plant...

He's way taller than he looks. He will keep continuously growing for the rest of his life til a certain point, to which his true height would be around 9 ft to 10 ft tall at the least when in humanoid form. However, as of right now, he is 7'5 in his natural body. Here's the fun part though; he actually SHIFTS HIS BONES and condenses his weight and appearance to look more humanlike, but that still leaves him at a hefty 6'5. Even despite this effort to appear smaller and more unassuming, due to the poor nutrition on Gunsmoke, nearly every human is much, much smaller than him. Unless they've been genetically and unethically modified, of course. Then they can get fucking giant . But, nobody matches his height on an average basis there.

when he's in his full 7'5 ( and growing!! ) form, his limbs are gangly, and too long. His eyes look Bigger, and his skin a little bluer; his fingertips get elongated with a black gradient like all his plant sisters. Example here.

His angel arm is something he does not bring out due to a great deal of trauma with that and knives; he does not have access to a full plant angel form. What he DOES have access to is a gigantic angel arm, and three pairs of wings; parts of his body transform into an eldritch mechanical angel kind of being, but not all of his body can. This is because of his twin, Nai / Knives having the other half. Had Nai never existed, Vash would have full access to his plant angel form. He is one of the most powerful plants of his kind with said angel arm, but ... he'd sooner kill himself than ever use it. There'sa a whole rant i have about how he feels having been forced to have it out, but .. that's for later.

Now, for this paragraph, heads up for y'all for mentions of starvation and body dysmorphia, over all bad condition of a body. The next red text you'll see is where discussion of this stops. as is pretty heavily established, Vash has a great deal of body dysmoprhia. He is absolutely letting his body fall apart at the seams, and frequently punishes himself for "failing" to protect people by starving himself, despite needing it to survive / have energy and heavily enjoying food. That is why he's so damn scrawny! Which is unfortunate, but he has so so many complexes ( shout i make a separate infodump about this too? ) tht this is just par for the course. Now, he could heal the scars and shit on his body faster if he wanted to, but he's pretty self conscious about it. He will let any humans hurt him if he deems it justified, and unforch, he usually does. He lets them beat him senseless, cut him up, shoot him -- nothing he couldn't survive, anything goes. his body is straight up canonically barely held together by thick staples and grates of metal over exposed muscle.

This is part of why he never takes off his coat, ever. Or those long sleeved shirts of his. I mean, he might to shower or clean up wounds, but...... very rarely does he do this. He just takes whatever beating humans give him cause he feels he deserves it, and deals with it.

Warning over!

With all the heavy stuff said, here's a few final short hcs.

He photosynthesizes some, and really enjoys basking in the sun.

He's a very light sleeper and rarely ever gets decent sleep. He's pretty much always exhausted, but never lets it show.

CAN'T EVER LISTEN TO CLASSICAL MUSIC. it puts him into SERIOUS triggered mode and gets him too panicked to think straight, even after Nai / Knives died.

His hair looks like normal hair, but it absolutely DOES NOT feel like it. It feels like really soft velvety flower petals, and will always keep this consistency.

He's got inhumanly amazing marksmanship, yet somehow, being drunk ( should he ever GET drunk ) improves it more. Yes, I stole this bit from 98 vash but i think it's funny and it's my interpretation so this is what i keep. ok? :)

And lastly ...

He stims by reloading and loading guns :3

Anyways, hope you guys enjoyed! Should I make a part 2 sometime? :p

#oops. i accidentally spent all day on this ... ahahaha #* fuckboy lip bites *#╰┈➤ 🎸 [ STUDY ] chai #╰┈➤ 🚀 [ STUDY ] gary #╰┈➤ 🪓 [ STUDY ] ash #╰┈➤ 🌿 [ STUDY ] vash #╰┈➤ 🌟 [ STUDY ] joseph

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unhitches-similes · 1 year

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Miraculous Fic: Reassurances

I wanted to do a little something in honor of @ladrienjune since it's going on, but my brain is also still kinda stuck on my BFF Swap + Reverse Crush AU. So, here's something that IS by definition Ladrien, but the dynamic's a bit different because, well, reverse lovesquare.

Anyhow, enough of me. Please enjoy the story!

~*~

Summary: Adrien wasn’t expecting to find Ladybug outside his house looking for all the world like she’d been carrying the world on her shoulders and somehow dropped it.

Notes: AU Season 1, Best Friend Swap + Reverse Lovesquare

Dialogue Prompt – "It's nothing, I'm just tired." Ladrien June Prompt – 5. Just Friends

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Read on Ao3

~*~

Adrien was pacing around his room as he talked on the phone with his best friend. (His best friend! He was still growing used to the idea, even though Alya often pointed out that they’d already been friends even before going to school together.) His constant movement had more to do with excess energy than any sort of discontent.

The blond was just walking across the cushions of his sofa when movement outside his windows caught his attention. It was hard to see in the dark with his ordinary human vision, and it went by quickly, but Adrien could have sworn he had just seen…

No. They’d just fought an akuma earlier that day, surely there wasn’t another one already? If there was, Alya probably would have been one of the first to know – she kept track of such things – and definitely would have said something rather than continuing her thorough breakdown of the latest battle fought by the United Heroez. But why else would Ladybug be out at this hour?

“Alya, I’ll have to call you back,” Adrien interrupted.

“What? No,” Alya protested. “I was just getting to the best part!”

“I know, but later, okay? I’ve got to do something real quick.”

“Fine, but if you don’t call back soon, I can’t promise I won’t spam you with text messages.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

Disconnecting the call, Adrien slid the phone into his pocket before bounding over to his windows, trying to see if he could spot (ha!) Ladybug in the darkness. “Plagg, did you see anything?”

The teen turned around when the kwami gave no response. Plagg was sprawled on his back on the bed, in a cheese coma, no doubt. Repressing a sigh, Adrien jogged over to grab the sleepy kwami and slip him into a pocket.

Poking his head out his bedroom door, he glanced both ways before stepping out into the hall. It wouldn’t do for Nathalie or his father to see him sneaking outside the house late at night, even if he wasn’t planning on going far. (Nevermind that he did so all the time as Chat Noir. This situation was different.)

Adrien looked around as he quietly exited through a side door. Whatever he thought he’d seen had appeared to be moving in this direction. Who was he kidding, though? Even if he had seen Ladybug and she had gone by his house, why would she still be nearby? He would have had better luck finding whatever or whoever it was as Chat Noir.

Just as he was about to give up the search and head back inside, he heard a muffled sound from the other side of the wall. Hurrying over to the nearest gate, he took a moment to disable the security on it. Honestly, his father needed to be a little less predictable with his security codes. Adrien then stepped out onto the sidewalk, moving cautiously towards where he thought he heard the sound.

There! Tucked between a shrub and a burnt out streetlight, back against the stone wall and knees folded against her chest was Ladybug, spots only just discernible in the darkness. She seemed so… small, just then. Adrien wasn’t sure what exactly he had been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t to find his partner outside his house looking for all the world like she’d been carrying the world on her shoulders and somehow dropped it.

“Ladybug?” Adrien said softly.

The girl startled, eyes wide with alarm as she looked up at him, before relaxing again a moment later. “Oh, um, hi,” she responded, false cheer in her tone, her hands raising to swipe quickly beneath both eyes before resting atop her knees. “It’s Adrien, right? Shouldn’t you be at home?”

“You’re outside my house.” Adrien gestured to the structure behind her.

“Your house?” Ladybug echoed, turning her head as though to look and getting a face full of shrubbery for her trouble. (Adrien resisted the urge to laugh at the adorable look of consternation that passed over her features.) She raised to her feet and moved away from the wall to actually get a glimpse of the so-called ‘house’ in question. “Gosh, I’m sorry. I guess I must not have been paying attention to where I was going. I didn’t mean to disturb anyone.”

“No, you aren’t bothering me or anything. I just thought I saw something go past my window and came to investigate,” he assured her.

Her blue eyes turned back to him and even in the muted light of the moon, even behind her mask, they appeared red-rimmed and puffy. Like she’d been crying. The idea made Adrien’s stomach churn uncomfortably.

“If you’re sure…” said Ladybug.

“Absolutely.”

It was interesting talking to her this way, as Adrien. She always seemed so flustered around him when he was Chat. He always wished she could just talk to him the way he saw her talk to other people. He still wasn’t sure what he’d done to make her so uncomfortable around him and the times he’d tried to ask only seemed to make it worse.

“Well, I guess I should probably get going,” she announced. “You really should get back inside. It’s probably not very safe to be wandering around outside without shoes.”

Adrien glanced down to find that he was, in fact, only wearing socks. He looked back up quickly as she drew her yoyo from her hip. “No, wait!”

She blinked back at him in surprise. “Did you need something?”

“No! I mean, yes - that is,” Adrien silently berated himself as he tried to put his thoughts into coherent order. “I just… Are you okay?”

Because that was really the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? It was late at night and his partner, a girl he liked to think of as his friend, was alone and crying. And he couldn’t think of a reason why. Sure, the fight with the akuma had gone a little sideways at the start, but they had won, in the end. Everything had been fixed, hadn’t it?

“It’s nothing, I’m just tired,” she told him. She was wearing a camera-smile. Adrien could tell. He had a few of his own.

He was going to just leave it be. He should just leave it be. It wasn’t his business. Nonetheless, despite his intentions, he still blurted out, “You weren’t crying just now?”

Ladybug drew in a sharp breath, shooting him a stricken look. She looked ready to cry again and Adrien could just kick himself. Why did he have to open his big mouth? She could only just hold a conversation with his alter-ego; why would she want to talk to him as Adrien about whatever was upsetting her?

“I…” Ladybug began, expression crumpling and shoulders sagging in a way Adrien just hated to see in someone he already admired. “It’s just—”

She let out a hiccuping breath, visibly trying to fight it back only to have it be followed by another. A high-pitched sound of distress emerged then, her hand raising too slowly to properly muffle it. And then, much to Adrien’s own alarm, it was as though a dam had broken and the words and tears seemed to spill out of her.

“Everything went wrong today! At home and school, and – and then with the akuma, I made like a dozen different mistakes. I made a complete idiot of myself in front of my partner. Again. And my best friend is mad at me because I broke a promise and I can’t even explain why. It has been th-the worst day ever and now I’m just dumping all my problems on you and you don’t even know me. I must be the worst Ladybug tha—”

“Whoa – hey, I-I’m sure that’s not true!” Adrien cut in, his hands fluttering uselessly in the air between them. “You’re an awesome Ladybug! So awesome my best friend spends all her free time doing a blog about you! Have you seen it? It’s called the Ladyblog and if you haven’t visited it, you totally should! There’s a whole section just for people to leave notes to let you know how much they appreciate you and what you do. I mean, it’s for you and Chat Noir both, but you’re a team, right? Chat Noir couldn’t do what he does without you.”

His partner was staring at him again, the moonlight catching her features in a sort of melancholy relief. The sobs that had been wracking her slight frame had quieted, perhaps in surprise at his rather wordy and impassioned interjection, although tears still trickled down her face.

Hesitating just a moment, Adrien reached out to put a hand on Ladybug’s shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze when she didn’t flinch or pull away. “You had a bad day,” he told her, “that doesn’t mean you’re a bad person or that you aren’t good at what you do. Everyone has off days and everyone makes mistakes.

“You are a good Ladybug,” Adrien asserted, trying to put all of his certainty into the words, “Paris is lucky to have you.”

Ladybug let out another sob and for a split second Adrien was afraid he had said something wrong before she crashed against him, arms going around his waist as she buried her face in his chest. The boy returned the embrace, pressing his cheek against the top of her head and making reassuring noises the way Alya did when she comforted one of her sisters.

They stood there for a moment, Adrien rubbing a hand soothingly along Ladybug’s back. Part of him wanted to ask what she’d meant when she said she’d made an idiot of herself in front of him, but of course, Ladybug didn’t know he was also Chat Noir. He wished once more that she’d been less adamant about keeping their identities a secret. Maybe then there’d be some better way for him to help her. Maybe she wouldn’t be so flustered around Chat if she knew he was just Adrien beneath the mask. Nonetheless, it was obvious he’d have to do something to encourage her more the next time they were both in costume.

“Thanks,” Ladybug finally said, stepping away from him. Her hands brushed over her cheeks again and she was mostly back to the Ladybug the city had come to know. “And sorry for crying all over you.”

“It’s fine. I’m glad to help,” he told her.

She gifted him a smile – a real one, this time – and something about the expression seemed so familiar. “You’re sweet. Who would have known the boy whose face is all over Paris would be such a sweetheart?”

A blush rose to his face unbidden and Adrien scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, well, who’d think Ladybug would tease someone she just met?” he countered with a small grin. Her laughter rang through the air before she leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you, Adrien.”

“Anytime.”

She turned to leave again and Adrien reached out to put a hand on her arm to delay her departure.

“I mean it, Ladybug,” he told her. “Anytime you need a friend, you know where to find me.”

“I’ll remember that.” She smiled softly and then she was gone, leaving him alone on the sidewalk. As Adrien turned to go back inside, his phone in his pocket started to vibrate with a series of rapid-fire texts. Right on cue.

Pulling his phone out as he went back inside, Adrien hoped that Ladybug would be okay. He also hoped that one day, he’d be able to have a conversation with her as Chat Noir without feeling like he was stressing her out. (He would, but it wouldn’t be for some time yet.)

He nearly got caught heading back to his room. Alya had sent him a meme that made him burst out laughing.

~*~

End.

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elfcyclopedia · 1 year

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Fic Lines! Tag Game~

• • • • •

Thanks @thana-topsy by tagging me :3 And therefore recognizing me as a fellow writer even though I still haven't posted anything online. Yet.

The fragments are from two fanfics I'm working on, both telling the story of Ildari Sarothril from her perspecive. They are namely:

"She Looks so Beautiful in Her Grave: A Prelude" and "Ashes Feed My Revenge"

As I said, I haven't posted them yet. But if you get interested feel free to dm me, I'll gladly share my work so far with you :3

• • • • •

Ok, so here we go:

A line from your fic that makes you sad

He looked around the graveyard once again. The dawn greeted him with shy, pinkish rays dispersed in the morning mist. Lighting the sea, the grave… The beautiful and deadly nightshades painted ornate, slender shadows on the ash. The dawn, the time of the Mother of Roses. Silver tears filled his eyes. Oh what a lowly mortal he is, in the face of death, in the face of the Gods. He leapt down on his knees, facing the rising sun, and prayed, prayed ardently being sorry for Azura, Boetiah and Mephala for what he’s about to do. But he couldn’t help it, he couldn’t help it!

(from "She Looks so Beautiful in Her Grave: A Prelude")

A line from your fic that makes you want to punch a character

Master fucking Neloth. Ulves’ face was hued red with anger. It was him who killed her. He coaxed Ildari into performing some unfortunate experiment on her. Two days ago Ulves floated up into the main tower to bring his master food when he casually informed him to dig a fresh grave. His blood boiled from the sole thought of it. He wished to kill him with his whole heart. But he felt so powerless. The old sly wizard would fry him down to a crisp before he could even unsheathe his axe. The only option would be poisoning his meal… but it was very probable that this ash-sucker would survive somehow. And that would mean the end of Ulves’ life. And even if his master, what would that change? There was nothing that Ulves wanted to do after that.

(from "She Looks so Beautiful in Her Grave: A Prelude")

A line from your fic you want to talk about more

Imagine silence. But in its foulest form. The silence that is only found in places of death, sending shivers down the spines of the living. The stillness of a burnt-down village. The void that fills the space after a man has uttered their last words. Somewhere, all among that silence a faint sound could be heard. Ildari’s heart started beating.