#it affects red and anything with red in it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

synity · 2 days ago

Note

Hi! Could you write a fic with DK where he playfully teases the reader while they’re in a relationship, and the reader teases him back — but in the end, they both end up flustered?

Caught In 4K

(Lee Dokyeom x FemReader)

*Fluff, Playful Romance, Established Relationship*

It started with a smirk.

Dokyeom had that gleam in his eyes the kind that meant mischief. You were curled up on the couch, minding your business, scrolling through your phone when he snuck up behind you and hooked his chin over your shoulder.

“You’re cute when you concentrate,” he whispered against your ear, voice lower than usual, knowing exactly what he was doing.

You raised a brow without looking at him. “Trying to seduce me in a hoodie and fluffy socks?”

He gasped, feigning offense. “First of all, this hoodie is sexy don’t disrespect the limited edition SEVENTEEN merch. Second, I don’t need to dress up to seduce you. My existence does enough.”

You rolled your eyes and set your phone down. “Wow, confidence through the roof today. What did you eat?”

“Affection. I had a full-course meal of your love and attention,” he said, grinning like a five-year-old who knew he was being extra.

You reached behind and flicked his forehead lightly. “You’re so cheesy, I swear I’m going lactose intolerant.”

He let out a dramatic gasp and slid onto the couch beside you. “You used to find me charming. Now you just abuse me with your sarcasm.”

You smirked, turning to face him. “You used to play the guitar to impress me. Now you just steal my fries and make fun of how I pronounce ‘schedule.’”

“Skedule is not how it’s said and you know it.”

“Shed-ule. Fight me.”

“You’re picking fights with a vocalist who could sing your name into a love song and make you cry in five seconds?”

“I’m not crying unless it’s from how cringe your pick-up lines are.”

Dokyeom chuckled, tossing a pillow at you. “You are so mean. I think I need to report this relationship to the Ministry of Adorable Boyfriends.”

You caught the pillow mid-air and raised a brow. “That’s a thing?”

“It should be. I’d be president.”

“More like a clown.”

“You wound me,” he clutched his chest dramatically, slumping into your lap. “Your words, they sting.”

You laughed, running your fingers through his hair. “Poor baby.”

He peeked up at you with that lazy smile and twinkle in his eyes. “Still wouldn’t trade you for anything.”

Your fingers paused. Just like that, your face warmed.

DK, noticing your slight blush, smirked again. “Aww… got you flustered, didn’t I?”

You pushed his head off your lap gently and tried to play it cool. “Don’t flatter yourself, I’m just warm. This hoodie is thick.”

“Oh, so now you like my hoodie?”

“You’re so annoying.”

“But you love me,” he sang with a grin.

“No comment.”

“You’re not denying it!”

“I’m pleading the fifth.”

He sat up with a triumphant look. “Ha! I win.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Fine. If you’re going to play that game” you paused, leaning in close to his face. “Then maybe I should tell you that you looked really hot at rehearsal the other day. All that sweat and effort? Chef’s kiss.”

His mouth dropped open. “Wait—what?!”

You tilted your head innocently. “What? I can’t appreciate my boyfriend’s stage presence?”

Dokyeom blinked, processing it slowly. “You were watching?”

“Of course. I always watch you.”

His ears turned red. You grinned wider.

“Yah… don’t do that,” he mumbled.

“Do what?”

“Say that so casually. I’m a weak man.”

You leaned closer, this time whispering, “Then I guess I shouldn’t tell you that your back muscles look really good when you’re focused.”

He turned bright pink and dramatically collapsed back onto the couch.

“I’m dead. You killed me.”

You couldn’t stop laughing as he hid his face behind a pillow. “You okay there, Mr. Flirt?”

His voice came muffled. “I was supposed to fluster you, not the other way around.”

“Plot twist,” you giggled, poking his side.

Suddenly, he pulled the pillow down and cupped your cheeks. “Fine. You wanna play dirty? I’ll end this right now.”

Your eyes widened. “Wait, what are you doing—”

And then he kissed you.

A deep, slow kiss that had your heart skipping a beat, hands freezing mid-air as his lips moved against yours with a smug kind of softness. You melted a little, caught off guard.

When he finally pulled back, he smirked. “Now who’s flustered?”

You were breathless, blinking at him in disbelief. “You… that’s cheating.”

Dokyeom winked. “All’s fair in love and flirt wars.”

You couldn’t even argue. Not when your heart was thumping and your cheeks were on fire. You playfully shoved him, burying your face in the nearest pillow.

He laughed, pulling you into his arms. “Game over. I win.”

“You’re such a menace,” you mumbled, voice muffled.

“But I’m your menace.”

And just like that, he rested his chin on top of your head, humming contentedly while you both sat tangled together in a heap of soft blankets, warmth, and unspoken affection.

Flustered or not, it was moments like these that made you fall harder.

153 notes · View notes

bluudsucka · 1 day ago

Text

everything is romantic - stack x fem!reader

summary: the bond you share with stack is intense, passionate, and sensual. you both gain great gratification by just being near each other. anything and everything that you did was drenched in romance, and tonight is one of the many, many nights you display your affection for each other.

word count: 3k

warnings: smut, female reader, vampire reader, vampire sex, blood drinking, blood loss, oral sex, the hive mind, mutual obsession, set in the early 90s

author's note: hey ya'll here's another fic, i wanted to try and exercise my writing muscle and try to push myself into a different writing style. (i finished writing this hella late at night and couldn't sleep, so forgive some spelling errors!) i appreciate each and every read! thank ya so much! enjoy!

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

Harsh red neon lights cascaded over your frame, cutting through the darkness that is the night. The sign displayed the iconography of Jesus - his arms spread wide open - welcoming the lost souls that strayed too far from his comforting light. The muffled sounds of dogs barking and passing rap music lulled you into a peaceful trance, any normal person would avoid this part of town like the plague, giving it a wide berth as they pass through the city.

But this part of town didn't phase you, nor did it phase your man.

The radio within the bright cherry red convertible you waited in played a song, the melody becoming static as the old 1966 radio couldn't keep up with the new wave of electronic melodies the song had. Stack loved his vintage cars, and he dropped a pretty penny for this particular one.

The sound of a bell caught your attention; any human wouldn't have heard it though the thick noise that loomed over the Chicago streets. But you weren't human.

Not anymore.

You smiled a toothy grin at your lover as he crossed the street, his eyes shielded by dark shades and his face was stern, surely just by looking at him he seemed like the dangerous no-nonsense type. And he was when he dealt with business, but with you, he was as lively and energetic as a lovesick schoolboy.

He's your man, he's your baby, he's your everything.

"Hey, baby. Everythin' cool?" You asked, leaning forward to plant a wet and tender kiss onto his lips. He kissed you back instinctively, his body couldn't help but to crave your every touch.

Your every kiss.

"Yea', dropped off the 'work', we should have the rest of the night to ourselves." He stated as he turned the key that rested into the ignition of the car, the loud engine roaring to life like a beast. You giggled as your fingers adjusted your gold bamboo earring, making sure the jewelry wasn't caught in your hair.

Your recent hairstyle was simple - cornrows - straightbacks with clear beads at the end, the braids stopping at your midback while soft baby hairs framed your face perfectly. Stacked loved it when you wore braids, and it didn't hurt that he paid to have your hair done.

He always paid for you, you never have to ask.

Not once.

Winding down the twisting concrete road, you placed your hand on the nape of his neck, massaging his tense muscles as your nails lightly grazed his ear. Stack's skin was cold, freezing to the touch, and so was yours. One of the downsides of being a vampire, but within each other's arms, you could feel the heat of love you both held for each other.

You weren't an old vampire, you were turned in the year 1985, the same year that you ran into Stack. And compared to him you were merely a fledging, learning about your new life and abilities through him. Your baby was the one who turned you and offered a second chance at 'living', ironically your heart doesn't beat anymore and the once warm blood that nourished your body was cold and coagulated.

Yet you never felt so alive before.

Reaching for your hand, Stack placed a tender kiss onto the icy skin, his perfectly soft lips trailed kisses up your arm. His lips rested on a worn tattoo the clung onto your body, you had gotten a few tattoos before you turned, meaning that you were truly stuck with them forever. No amount of laser removal could erase them.

You hated them, but Stack adored them, treating each line of ink as if it was crafted by Basquiat himself. Stack would tell you about his time living before he was turned, tattoos were a thing, but it was an expensive luxury a few could afford during the 1930s.

"We headin' home, baby?" You asked, which earned a nod from him, his hand leaving your touch as he switched the car in a different gear. Even though the man was sitting right next to you, you yearned and missed his calloused hands tracing over your skin. You wanted to kiss him, to hold him close to your body until you both turn into nothing but weeping messes.

Thoughts of the night before danced across your buzzing mind. How his lips trailed all over your body, how your nails dug into his brown skin as he fucked you against the wall of your shared bedroom, you both so desperate for each other that you couldn't even make it to the bed.

Stack tilted his head towards you and shot you a wide smile, the sight of his sharp canines made your thighs squeeze together as the familiar ache raised within your core, the sight of his golden grillz only added fuel to the already wildfire that was your lust. You could feel his growing arousal too, thanks to both of your minds being linked to each other, exchanging every intense feeling between the two of you.

It was like a secret language only the two of you could speak, no one could ever understand or comprehend the connection that fused your psyches together, even other vampires that rolled within your social circle were at a loss with how in sync you and Stack were. No other words were verbally spoken between the two of you, only lustful thoughts swapped back and forth.

You couldn't wait to get home.

He went double the speed limit.

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

Eager and hungry kisses greedily bombard your neck; the familiar sharp sensation of teeth dragged across your skin. With shaking hands you clung onto Stack, your own desperation to share your body with him quickly became overbearing.

You need to feel him.

In a perfect world you would spend your days fucking each other while sharing the deepest of memories with each other, scanning each other minds in reverence as if those memories were important ancient text. But with wise words Stack always reminded you: "We got business to do." But even when working side by side, every action you both did for each other was lanced in romance.

Everything you two did was romantic.

Groaning into his mouth, Stacked lifted you up from your feet, not breaking the kiss as he led you towards the bedroom. The sound of expensive decor crashed onto the marble ground; paintings of black art that hung deliberately onto the cream-colored walls hit the ground with heavy thuds as your mouths fought each other for dominance.

Stack was normally the more dominant one in bed, but some nights he would relinquish his power, gladly submitting to you. His commanding frame melting under your touch as you fucked him, legs locking him in place until he came.

But this night it seemed like both of you wanted to be in charge, which meant things within your luxury apartment were bound to be broken by the time you both were satisfied. Biting on the bottom of his lip, hard enough to draw blood, Stack groaned in pleasure as his firm grip on your ass grew harsher.

You loved the taste of his blood, it was savory and rich, like a well-aged full bodied red wine. And the high of devouring his blood sent a rush towards your head, making it spin in mild delirium. Your lips were stained in his dark blood as your eyes lit up with a fiery ember color, the bright red replaced your natural color irises as you held Stack close. But without warning he tossed you towards the soft bed, making you land haphazardly on the white comforter.

"I ain't playin' with you tonight, girl."

Licking your crimson cover lips you gave him mischievous grin, your sharp fangs catching onto your thick lips. "What you mean, Elias? I ain't do nothin'."

You tried to feign ignorance, shrugging your shoulders as giggles escaped your lungs, which in turn earned a chuckle from the older vampire. Lying to him was downright useless - his mind is yours, and your mind is his. But he'd be lying if he said he wasn't entertained by your half-assed charade of innocence.

Crawling towards his towering frame, your hands raced up toned arms, your fingers tracing his muscles through his long sleeve shirt - as if trying to memorize every curve. With skilled fingers, your hands met with his as you both began to unbutton his shirt. He wore a long sleeve color-block shirt, the colors representing the Pan-African flag, and underneath the thin shirt a white wife-beater adorned his beautiful brown skin. The white shirt made him look as if he himself was glowing.

With soft kisses your lips trailed from his jaw, towards his neck, and stopped at his chest where a thick gold chain - a Jesus piece - wreathe around the base of his neck and shoulders. With sharp teeth you opened your mouth, ready to sink your fangs into his cold skin again and consume more of his delectable blood. But with a strong and calloused hand he held onto your jaw, pushing your face away from his toned chest.

A lustful smile pulled at your lips as your held onto his wrist, your thumb rubbing small circles on the back of his hand.

"You already took a bite outta me without my permission, baby. You gotta prove to me that you deserve another drink." He muttered as his lips ghosted above yours, his heavy words seeped into your open mouth, your nails digging deep into his skin as the feeling of his breath made you shiver.

"You can drink from me if you're so upset about it."

"I already know I can," Stacked pushed you back onto the bed. "But that ain't the point."

With nimble hands Stack pulled the thin white shirt above his head and off his body, strong and sturdy muscles met your fiery eyes, and you noticed that his eyes had changed too. His once warm and chestnut brown irises were now replaced with milky grey eyes.

You were obsessed with those eyes.

Positioning himself above your smaller frame your arms pulled him in close, with proficient and dexterous hands, he cupped your breast - slipping his hand underneath your skintight bodysuit you wore. Stack knew exactly were to touch you, kissing and squeezing the places that only he knew could make you moan out in ecstasy.

Tough fingers rolled and pinched your right nipple, rolling the sensitive bud as you squirm underneath him, your hips bucking up towards his in an attempt to ease your aching core. With a smile Stack placed kisses on the crook of your neck, his sharp canines dragging against your soft yet freezing skin.

And he bit down.

Stack's blood was savory and bold, just like his personality. While yours was sweet like fruit with an undertone of spice. You cried out his name as he continued to drink from you, the feeling of his tongue pressing against your neck made your body shiver. Quick and desperate fingers reached in between your flush bodies; you can't take any more of this teasing.

"Take these pants off, baby." You moan, tugging at the waistband of his jeans. You could feel his member growing hard against your thigh, he wanted to feel you, connect with you, devour you - bad.

"All this teasin' and shit, I know you want me, I can feel you wanting me."

With a wet pop, Stack's bloody lips pulled away from your neck. Crimson dripping from the wound and bloomed onto the thick strap of your orange bodysuit.

"I can feel you wanting me too." He uttered, as his free hand slowly rubbed your sex through the thin fabric of your clothes. You were dripping, and you wouldn't be surprised if he could feel it without undressing you fully. With one last pinch on your nipple Stack pulled away from you, leaning upwards as his hands helped yours undress yourself. Sliding the bodysuit off your body, you were exposed underneath his intense gaze.

Hungry eyes danced and raced over every curve on your body, all you wore now was a dangerously thin thong that left nothing to the imagination, the fabric was his favorite color.

Red.

Sitting up on your knees you unbuckled his belt, his eyes watched your movements as he rolled his broad shoulders, muscular chest already rising and falling rapidly with anticipation as your knuckles ghosted over his skin. Biting the bottom of his blood-stained lips you pulled down his pants along with his boxers, freeing his dick that strained against his pants.

His lips crashed into yours as the taste of iron savory-sweet iron filled your mouth, frenzied lips danced across each other as you both fought for dominance. When you and Stack got into this state, it was like a battle when you both kissed, as if to see which one would back down and let the other lead tonight. His tongue grazed over your sharp fangs as his hands helped your thighs wrap around his waist, the feeling of his well-trained muscles pressing against your body made you smile.

"Eat this pussy." You breathlessly demanded in between fevered kisses; your raunchy request earned you a moan from Stack. His lips kissed your cheek, your bloody neck and shoulder, your breast, the soft skin of your stomach, and landing on last wet kiss on the mound of your pussy. The feeling of his cold chain brushed against your clit as your legs rest on his shoulders, a wave of pleasure rushed through your cold veins.

Pulling your panties to the side his tongue took a long drag across your aching core, his pale vampiric eyes not breaking contact with yours, tasting your juices as he stopped his tongue at your sensitive bud. Stack repeated his licking you as he moaned, his nails digging into your thighs. If you were alive, you knew that his nails would've left deep scars onto your skin, but as soon as his hands reach to hold your hips down onto the bed you could feel the sore and tender skin heal over.

"Mhm, just like that. You hungry ain't you?" You groaned as your hand stroked his hair, trying your best not to mess up his waves. His lips wrapped around your clit and sucked as if his life depended on it, nodding his head in agreement at your words. Hungry was an understatement - he was starved. Your blood tasted sweet, but your pussy tasted even sweeter on his tongue.

Moaning into your core Stack pushed his face even deeper, it felt like nirvana just to taste your sex, and he felt your pleasure too - due to the link your minds created. Your hips bucked helplessly into his face, making him pull away from you, a wide grin plastered onto his beautiful features. His bloody lips mixed with your juices planted a kiss onto your knee. His nimble and skillful fingers pressed onto your clit as he slowly began to rub circles on your sensitive button.

"Oh, fuck. Keep touchin' me like that, baby. Yes, yes!" You groaned rolling your hips against his hand. His fingers began to tease your aching entrance, your thoughts exchanging with his. He already knew you wanted to be filled, and slowly he pressed his pointer and index finger inside of you. His eyes raked over your squirming body at the feeling of his fingers; leisurely he began fucking you with his fingers. His skilled digits stretching you out deliciously.

Pressing your chest against his Stack's bloody lips whispered against your ear, you could feel his kissable lips stretching into a smile with each word he spoke.

"That feels good, don't it?"

You replied with a moan no words were needed to be uttered, he already knew what you were feeling, he felt it too. The wet sound of your pussy swallowing his fingers greedily echoed through your mind and your cried out in pure bliss as he added another one - three fingers now inside you, his knuckles brushing against your swollen clit. Him touching you felt like paradise, if you could die again with him in your arms, you'd gladly do so.

The familiar knot formed within loins and Stack felt it within him too, his fingers picking up the pace as his mouth attached onto your clit again, licking and sucking between each thrust of his fingers. Rolling your hips in rhythm with his calloused digits the aching knot within your insides snap, causing you to cry out in euphoria. Your nails dug into his toned shoulders, drawing blood that seeped underneath your nails as your body shook underneath the man.

Pulling away from your spent pussy Stack held onto your hips, flipping your body with ease as if you weight nothing, laying on his back while you straddled him. With a sigh you leaned forward, your arms caging him in as you planted a ravenous kiss on his plump lips, tasting yourself on his tongue and mustache. His face was drenched with your juices, and you couldn't get enough of it, both of your mouths moved in sync with each other as your strong thighs squeezed around his hips.

Pulling away from his open mouth a string of saliva connected your bottom lip with his, and steady hands found their way towards his chest. The string that connected your mouths snapped as you looked down between yourselves, helping Stack line himself to enter inside you. Holding the base of his dick with your hand - his hand on top of your, guiding you - you slowly eased yourself onto him.

"Fuck..." He groaned as his hips bucked forward, his hands desperately reaching for your waist to steady his movements. A high pitch grunt escaped your lungs as you grinded into him, your head rolling back in pleasure. Slowly, you began to bounce on him, the feeling of his thick cock stretching you and hitting that spot sent shockwaves down your spine, the sounds of the bed creaking underneath you helped you pace your movements. His hips bucked forward, fucking into your core as your hands laid flat on his toned chest.

"You like my dick inside you, baby? Huh? You like that?"

"I love it!"

Stack groaned in response as he guided your hips with his hand, his mouth open slack as his milky irises closed, face twisting in satisfaction. Tangerine colored streetlights crept into your shared bedroom, cutting through the dark as the orange light painted Stack's face and body, the harsh light only accentuated and emphasized his strikingly handsome features. Your left hand cupped his face, stroking his cheek lovingly as you fucked into him, the feeling of his facial hair tickling the icy palm of your hand.

He's beautiful and he's yours.

Leaning forward to steady yourself, your long braids brushed against the side of his chiseled jaw, and without a second thought Stack's hand latched onto them. The sound of your hair beads echoed as he wrapped the braids around his hand, creating a fist that forced you to tilt your head to the side exposing your bloodied neck. The comforting sting of him pulling your hair made your ruby red eyes roll into the back of your head, your hips snapping on his as he fucked you more forcefully now.

With your panties still on - just pushed to the side - the lacy fabric pressed and rubbed against the side of his cock. The burning feeling of his orgasm bloomed within his unbeating heart. Adjusting yourself from your knees your feet laid flat on the bed, bouncing on his cock as if you were riding a mechanical bull. Your pussy was squeezing him perfectly and his booming voice whimpered out in carnal pleasure.

He was close.

Your thumbs were tucked underneath his gold chain as you sensually rubbed his shoulders, helping him ease into the intense climax was swiftly approaching.

"Mhm, mhm." Stack chanted, biting down on his lip, drawing blood from the flesh. His hips bucked unrhythmically and frantic, his mind buzzing as he desperately chased after the high of coming - his glossy eyes shined bright in the darkness, long lashes blinking with each stroke he gave your soaking pussy.

Your body felt so good.

With a breathy cry you begged: "C-Can I bite you, please baby!? You taste so good when you come, I need it."

Without exchanging words Stack lulled his head to the side and pulled you by your braids, your lips crashing on his neck. Sharp fangs plunged into his skin as his hips rocked you back and forth, the familiar savory taste of his blood was now rich - it reminded you of the warm and filling home cooked meals you use to devour when you were alive. Stack's muscular frame shook underneath you at the feeling of you drinking from him, his toes curling as he called out your name, as if it were a song. The feeling of his dick twitching inside you made the knot in your stomach snap and you came, Stack following closely behind - the feeling of his thick come filling you up nicely.

Sometimes you wish the two of you weren't dead. You'd make pretty babies.

Releasing your braids from his iron grip, Stack's arms laid limp at his sides, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried his best to catch his breath. With one last lick your tongue lapped up the blood that was leaking from his already healing wound.

"Damn, girl." He mumbled as his shaky hand pat your thigh, which cause you to giggle out in pride, confidence consuming your body at the success in you pleasing your man.

Your baby.

With him still inside you rocked your hips ruthlessly which made him shut his eyes with a hiss, his dick was sensitive and overstimulated, but that only made you want him more. Your soaking pussy becoming even wetter.

You were ready for round two.

Large hands cupped your ass and slowly Stack lifted you off of his hard yet spent member, you tossed yourself by his side, your bloody lips planting a soft kiss on his shoulder as crimson blood bloomed underneath your bodies - staining the white bedsheets maroon.

"You know I love you, Elias." You whispered, his real name rolled off of your tongue as the words you spoke oozed with sincerity. Turning his head Stack's once cloudy pale eyes were now his natural chestnut brown, a soft smile pulled at his lips, golden capped teeth shined so bright within the dark room.

"I know, baby. I love you even more."

His words made you sigh in pure adoration, and that familiar tingly sensation crept back again between your legs. Scarlet covered lips left kiss shaped stains against his brown skin, the marks trailing over his pecks and abs, stopping just above his happy trail as he melted under your touch.

Tonight was gonna be long, but that didn't bother ya'll none.

#stack x reader #stack x black reader #stack x oc #stack x y/n #stack moore #stack moore x reader #sinners fanfiction #stack x reader smut #stack smut #stack x vampire reader #vampire smut

139 notes · View notes

heartsiebyul · 1 day ago

Note

hey so how do you think Riddle, Lilia and Leona would deal with having a s/o who gives them enthusiastic goodbye or hello hugs in public? S/o is just so happy to see them, is living in the moment the moment they lock eyes with their boyfriend? And then they don’t continue the pda after a bit if the boys are shy about that stuff, But if the boys seem sad throughout any time in the day in public s/o will just lean their head on their shoulder or loosely hug their arm if s/o can’t lean cuz it’s awkward doing that standing up, as a sort of comfort thing while they help try and solve the problem or just listen to what’s bothering them?

Twisted Wonderland characters when their boyfriend excitedly hugs them in public and gently clings to them when they’re feeling down.

(Featuring: Riddle, Leona & Lilia)

Riddle Rosehearts

Enthusiastic Public Hello/Goodbye Hugs

At first, Riddle completely short-circuits. You’re running at him in the hallway like a scene out of a romance drama, eyes lighting up when you see him, arms thrown around his shoulders—and all he can think is: What are you doing? We’re in public!

His face turns bright red every single time. He’ll try to scold you for being improper, but his voice falters midway. Why? Because deep down… he loves it. He just doesn’t know how to handle it.

The PDA is overwhelming to him at first. He’s not against physical affection, but he was raised to value decorum, and your bold warmth completely bypasses his formal upbringing.

Eventually, he stops flinching and awkwardly pats your back or lets his hand settle against your waist while muttering something like, “Yes, yes, I missed you too…”

He starts secretly waiting for these greetings. His expression will brighten the moment he spots you from a distance—but he still plays it cool. Sort of.

Comfort Gestures in Public (When He’s Sad)

Riddle’s the type to internalize stress, especially with the pressure of being Housewarden. He doesn’t like being seen as vulnerable, but you notice the little things: a tight jaw, tense shoulders, clipped tone.

If you quietly lean your head on his shoulder or loop your arm through his while walking, he’ll stiffen at first… but doesn’t move away. He lets out a slow breath like he’s finally allowing himself to feel.

“I’m fine,” he might say at first—but if you stay close and gentle, he opens up. Your wordless presence makes him feel safe enough to say what’s bothering him, even if it’s just a small complaint about dorm responsibilities or an upcoming exam.

The act of being beside him without pressure gives him the courage to let go of his need to be perfect. You become his safe space in a world that demands control.

Leona Kingsholar

Enthusiastic Public Hello/Goodbye Hugs

The first time you do it—running at him with that wide, boyish grin and hugging him like you couldn’t wait another second—Leona is visibly stunned.

“The hell are you doing? You trying to tackle me or something? We’re in the middle of campus...” But his hands don’t push you away—they settle naturally on your hips or back.

Leona grumbles. A lot. But the lazy smirk he hides in your hair or the low chuckle when you hug him again the next day tells the truth: he adores it.

Public displays of affection aren’t really his thing… or so he says. But he gets used to your greetings. Starts timing his arrival to catch you. His tail might even flick contentedly when you come running.

If you ever don’t hug him, he gets grumpy—“What, you forget how to say hi properly?”

Comfort Gestures in Public (When He’s Sad)

Leona’s pride is a fortress. He hates showing weakness. But sometimes his mood dips—old wounds, pressure, or simply feeling overlooked.

You don’t say anything. You just stand beside him, leaning your head on his shoulder or gently slipping your arm through his.

He tenses slightly… then sighs, slow and deep. The contact helps him breathe easier. Even if it’s subtle, you’re reminding him that you see him—truly see him.

He might mutter something like, “Don’t go thinking this means I’m sulking,” but he doesn’t move away. If anything, he stays close longer than usual.

If you gently ask what’s wrong, he’ll eventually talk—quiet, blunt, maybe a bit self-deprecating. But he knows you’re not judging. You’re just there. And for someone like Leona, that’s everything.

Lilia Vanrouge

Enthusiastic Public Hello/Goodbye Hugs

Lilia thinks your excited greetings are the cutest thing ever. The first time you tackle-hug him in the hallway, he laughs, scooping you up and twirling you in return like you just reunited after a war.

“Oh, my sweet darling, were you counting the seconds we were apart?” he teases with sparkly eyes, loud enough for the whole hallway to hear.

PDA doesn’t bother him at all—in fact, he encourages it. He thrives on physical affection and isn’t shy about giving it back, especially if it makes you happy.

The only time he gets flustered is if you blush. Then he switches tactics, going quieter, leaning in close, whispering “I love how warm you are when you see me,” in that mischievous, velvety tone.

With a deeper bond, the affection becomes more tender. The greetings are still joyful, but they carry more emotion—he starts holding you for longer, breathing you in like you’re a precious memory.

Comfort Gestures in Public (When He’s Sad)

Lilia’s a master of hiding his feelings behind a smile. But he can’t fool you. You can tell when his eyes are just a little dimmer, when his usual energy falters.

You quietly lean your head against him or hold his arm—and for a moment, the cheerful mask slips. His posture relaxes, and he leans back into you as if to silently say thank you.

He rarely talks about what’s bothering him unless you gently coax it out. “It’s nothing serious… just echoes of the past,” he might say, eyes distant.

Your quiet support means more to him than words. For someone who carries centuries of memories, your touch reminds him he’s still here, still loved, still seen.

#twst #twst fluff #twst disney #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x male reader #headcanon #male reader #twisted wonderland x reader #x reader #riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar #lilia vanrouge

117 notes · View notes

baelarys · 1 day ago

Text

Aemond Targaryen x Fem! reader

Warning: death, violence, incest, profanity, dead Dove, do not eat (I hope I'm using the tag correctly, correct me if I am not)

You had never truly owned anything in your life.

No lands, no castles, no weapons, no horses. Not even your own name belonged to you by right. The jewels that once adorned your neck and the dresses that covered your body were never really yours; they were gifts—rewards for obedience or concessions hard-won after proving your worth time and again.

The only things you could ever truly claim as your own were your willpower and your mind—your only constant allies in a world that seemed determined to break you. Thanks to them, you survived even after death cast its shadow over your entire family. A tragic end, yes, but not an unexpected one—at least not for those who knew the long, slow decline of your house since the death of your great-great-grandfather.

Being the youngest of your mother’s children was already a disadvantage. Being a girl only made matters worse. From the moment you could take your first steps, your fate was carefully shaped by others: you were to become the perfect doll, a delicate and obedient image. You were raised to embody sweetness, grace, and silence—the ideal little princess, granddaughter of the King, conceived as a symbol of reconciliation on the complex political chessboard of the court.

Your very existence was meant to soothe the storm between the heir to the throne and the queen. Your hand in marriage would be the offering to seal peace between two raging fires—a promise of balance upheld by your ability to smile, stay quiet, and obey.

Aemond was always kind to you. Or at least, that’s how it seemed in your childhood, especially compared to your uncle Aegon, who used to tug your hair when the nurses or their mothers weren’t looking, or would simply leave you behind without a second thought when you and your siblings played in the hall.

Perhaps you and Aemond forged that particular bond because you shared something deeper than blood: the condition of being outsiders. While the others shone with a light that seemed destined from the cradle, the two of you walked in the shadow of duty—watching, learning, and surviving in silence.

Aemond would sit with you to read, to study, to ponder things others deemed boring or unnecessary. His outbursts were fearsome when he didn’t understand something and you, with a patience forged by affection, corrected him. Still, he was the only one who stayed. The only one who played with you, who talked to you, who sought you out when everyone else forgot you.

You remember his firm hand closing around your wrist, pulling you through the halls of the Red Keep while you stifled your laughter, trying not to make a sound. He would take you to the kitchens, where you’d steal sweets before fleeing with whispers and flushed cheeks, giddy with excitement. He’d also drag you to the throne room, where you played dangerously close to the edges of the Iron Throne, as if you both knew your fates were somehow tied to that monstrous seat of steel.

It was Aemond who offered to help you feed your dragon when your brothers weren’t around, who listened to your silences, who saw your tears when no one else noticed... and who, unintentionally, could also be the one to cause them.

In his company, you learned that affection could be a double-edged blade, that tenderness sometimes wore the mask of clumsiness, that the truest love could hurt more than rejection. Aemond was never perfect—but he was yours. Your friend. Your accomplice. The only one who never asked you to be anything but yourself, even when the rest of the world demanded otherwise.

The news of your betrothal to Aemond didn’t come as a surprise.

It was, in truth, a predictable move. Neither you nor Aemond were particularly valuable pieces on the grand chessboard of power, but neither were you insignificant enough to be left aside. A marriage between the two of you was a strategic maneuver—a discreet bridge between two factions whose tensions grew with each passing day. A convenient bond, insignificant enough not to raise alarm, yet useful enough to allow the eyes and ears of one side to slip, unnoticed, into the territory of the other.

While Aemond trained in the courtyard, repeating his exercises with the same stoic discipline that shaped his daily routine—as if each strike of his sword could, on its own, grant him purpose—you received the news that, whispered with a veneer of courtesy, sealed your fate. Those cold, red stone walls would become your permanent home after the wedding.

Far from your mother. Far from your brothers.

That day, the weather seemed to echo the news with cruel precision. The sky, overcast and gray, stretched over King’s Landing like a slab of stone. The air was thick and sticky with humidity, clinging to your skin like a reminder of the inevitable. It smelled of confinement, of rusted iron and broken promises.

Queen Alicent, with that seemingly measured but empty kindness, had spoken briefly with you that morning. She used gentle words, carefully chosen phrases about duty, loyalty, and the need to preserve the stability of the realm. Then she left you in the hands of the septa.

That was when the conversation took on a harsher tone.

Your role within the marriage was explained to you without illusions. It wasn’t about love, nor shared dreams, but about duty. Obedience. Fertility. Decorum. You were to be the balm for a prince’s fury—a prince who had never known tenderness—the devoted wife who would support his ambition with a smile. A useful womb for a cause that was never yours to begin with.

“You will be wed,” the septa began, her voice firm and unadorned as she seated herself across from you. She placed a cup of wine beside you with care, the red liquid trembling slightly with the movement. You nodded in silence, not lifting your gaze, your fingers fumbling with the delicate golden embroidery of your gown, as if you could somehow hide among the stitches.

“Do you know what marriage means?” she asked with a trace of condescension. You nodded again, without conviction, unable to meet her eyes.

With deliberate slowness, she stacked two books on the oak table between you, closing the space with a dull thud. Then she leaned forward. Her voice, once gentle, took on a deeper, more direct tone.

“Do you know what you must do when you marry a prince?”

You didn’t answer. Your eyes remained fixed on your skirt’s embroidery, as if you could find something entertaining in the threads if you stared hard enough.

The septa sighed, visibly exasperated.

“Listen to me, princess. Your mother has asked me to be very specific with you,” she said, more sternly now, folding her hands on the table. “This will not be an ordinary marriage. You are about to become the wife of the queen’s son, the rider of Vhagar—a man who was not raised to deal with silly little girls.”

She paused, letting the weight of her words linger in the air.

“Your husband will be Prince Aemond. He is no common man. He has fire in his blood and steel in his heart. He does not seek sweetness, but he expects obedience. As a wife, you must learn to please him—not only at the table or in the castle halls, but in his bed.”

Her words fell like lead into the silence.

“You must be submissive, but not useless. He will want a companion who does not hinder him, who knows when to speak and when to be silent. You must understand his silences, accept his absences, endure his wrath if it comes, and never challenge him in public.”

She straightened and opened one of the books before you. The illustrations were ancient, delicate—and yet explicit in their purpose.

“Here, you will learn the essentials of the conjugal arts. Do not expect passion. Do not expect tenderness. But you must fulfill your part. You must know how to receive him, how to please him, how to ensure he returns to you when others try to pull him away.”

You felt as though you didn’t belong to that moment, as if everything was happening around you, not to you. But the septa’s words were clear, irreversible.

“And more importantly,” she added, “you must give him children. Healthy heirs, with white hair and violet eyes. That will be your greatest contribution to the realm… and the only way to secure your place in this nest of vipers.”

There was a heavy silence.

The septa closed the book softly, as though sealing a vow.

The wedding was arranged in less than three months. It was a discreet ceremony by royal standards, yet still opulent—just enough to meet the expectations of the House of the Dragon. Every detail was carefully chosen to reflect the power and purity of Targaryen blood.

They dressed you like a queen. The gown, made of red silk woven with threads of gold, fit your silhouette with perfect precision, and the jewels adorning your neck and wrists gleamed as though the sun itself had settled on you. The veil, long and sheer, fell over your shoulders like a second skin, and your lips, carefully painted, trembled slightly each time someone uttered your new title.

You sat beside Aemond after the first dance and did not rise again. Your role was already fulfilled: smile, nod, raise your cup. He, as expected, remained reserved. He did not seek your hand nor your words, nor did he offer his own. The image you both projected was flawless—cold and solemn, like two marble statues bound by duty.

The septa’s words returned to you like a timely echo: “Drink until you no longer recognize where you are, but not so much that you faint or vomit.” And you followed her advice. The wine soothed your nerves with a deceptive sweetness, wrapping you in a haze of weightlessness that made everything seem farther away, more bearable.

When the bedding ceremony arrived, your legs were barely aware of the weight of the gown they dragged behind. The applause was a distant wave, and the murmurs of the guests a sea of shapeless sound. You let yourself be guided by the handmaidens, your head held high but your will fast asleep.

The marriage chamber was spacious, quiet, and adorned in scarlet and gold. The sheets were new, soft, and smelled of flowers you could not name. Aemond said nothing as he closed the door behind him. His movements were meticulous, unhurried, as if each gesture were part of a long-rehearsed routine.

You did not resist. You did not protest. The carefully measured intoxication allowed you to forget your pride, to ignore the humiliation of standing naked before someone who did not love you, of offering your body as a bridge between two sides locked in a silent war.

There were no sweet words, no ceremonial caresses. Only the weight of his body over yours, the rough brush of his breath, the burden of duty made flesh. It wasn’t violent, but it wasn’t gentle either. It was exactly what was expected.

You remember only one thing clearly before the haze of the wine claimed you completely: the warm, sharp sensation of fullness in your belly, and his long silver hair tickling your cheek as he leaned over you. Then, darkness enveloped you, and you let it carry you away.

The next morning was a punishment in itself.

Your body woke with a dull ache you couldn’t quite place. Every muscle felt numb, as if it no longer belonged to you. Your mouth was dry, coated with the bitter aftertaste of the previous night’s wine, and as soon as you tried to stand, your stomach betrayed you. You vomited once, twice, three times, your body hunched over the bronze basin while the handmaidens waited in silence for the tremors to leave your limbs.

Aemond was gone.

Not in the bed, not in the adjacent room, not waiting in a corner with a compassionate look or a word of comfort. There was no trace of him.

And that absence—so eloquent in its coldness—told you more than any promise spoken in the vows the day before.

In the days that followed, you came to understand the essential truth: Aemond would not be a warm husband. He would not be a companion. His role was clear, defined, almost mechanical. The moments you shared were silent, tense, and when he spoke, his words were usually sharp—daggers thrown with surgical precision.

They weren’t open arguments, but constant, quiet fractures: a disdainful remark about your lineage, a veiled jab at your lack of influence, a whispered criticism of your upbringing or your posture. The wounds didn’t always bleed, but they hurt.

And yet, his interest in your body seemed unshakable.

There was no sweetness in his touch. No shared desire, not even passion. Only need. Domination. A contained urgency that, once released, left you hollow and alone beneath the sheets, as if your existence had been split between marital duty and daily humiliation. Aemond was not openly cruel, but he knew exactly how to make you feel used, small, dispensable. And he did it with a disturbing calm.

"Look at you," Aemond spat coldly, his voice low and cutting like the edge of a dagger. "You can't even breathe with decorum."

His body loomed over yours, an oppressive shadow against the cold stone of the corridor. The contact was not affectionate, but it was passionate; a display of power, a silent assertion of dominance. The icy marble of the wall pressed into your back as he leaned in, closing the already scant space between you. Your chest rose and fell with difficulty, searching for air, searching for words.

You tried to speak.

But your voice was quickly silenced—his hand closed over your mouth, dry, firm, unyielding.

"Silence," he ordered, in a tone so low it barely rose above the murmur of the wind slipping through the windows.

His gaze—that single eye of ice—showed no remorse, only calculation. Control. As if every gesture, every word, had been meticulously crafted to remind you which of the two dictated the rules of this marriage.

"What would they think if someone saw us in such an indecent scene... outside the privacy of the bedchamber?" he added, his voice laced with a veiled threat, his lips barely grazing your ear.

It wasn’t a question. It was a warning.

Your fingers clutched the edge of your dress, gripping the fabric as if it could hold back the tremor beginning to take over your body. You didn’t cry. You didn’t complain. But the silence you offered wasn’t out of submission—it was strategy. Because deep down, you knew that yielding without resistance was, for now, the only way to endure it.

As expected, the main purpose of that union was not love or harmony, but offspring. The promise of an heir to secure the future of Targaryen blood and reinforce the fragile bridge between two warring sides.

From the moment the maester confirmed your condition, your body ceased to belong to you. The gazes became more invasive, the commands stricter, the whispers more persistent. Suddenly, everything you did or didn’t do was reduced to one function: to carry.

Aemond said very little upon hearing the news. He simply looked at you for a few seconds with that impenetrable expression he always wore when he wanted to keep you at a distance. Then he returned to his books, to his training, to his silences. The pregnancy didn’t bring him closer to you. If anything, it made him even more distant, as if now that you had fulfilled your role, you were nothing more than a useful vessel.

In the months that followed, your body changed, and with it came endless discomforts. The discomfort of a belly that grew rapidly, of a back that found no rest, of meals that returned in waves of nausea, and of nights where sleep refused to come. The handmaidens whispered among themselves, the septa prayed with you with her cold hands, and you thought only of surviving one more day. You felt watched, examined, assessed. Even the maesters took your pulses as if you were breeding stock.

The sense of vulnerability was constant. You no longer belonged to yourself.

And when the day of the birth finally arrived, there was no romance, no joy. Only raw pain, the dampness of soaked sheets, the scream that tore from your throat, and the blood that stained the stone floor. What should have been a glorious moment was simply... exhausting. Invasive. Brutal.

You don’t clearly remember the moment you first heard him cry—only the weight of a maester pressing down on your belly, the septa’s voice urging you to push, and the sudden emptiness when the child was finally pulled from you.

That night, as you lay in clean sheets with a broken body and dry eyes, you realized something.

You had done something right.

Not something orderly, not something imposed, not something expected of you.

No. This time, you had done it. You, and you alone.

Aerion.

He was your son.

Yours, entirely yours.

You had felt his first heartbeat deep within your womb, had borne the weight of his life pressing upon yours for countless moons, had bled and screamed and pushed to bring him into the world. He was beautiful—more than you would ever dare to say aloud. Sturdy, with smooth, warm skin like that of a newborn lamb, and strands of pale hair that shimmered like moon-silk in the morning light. When his eyes first opened, they looked at you as if he had always been waiting for you.

Aerion was your creation.

Not Aemond’s. Not the queen’s. Not the realm’s.

Yours.

From the moment you first held him in your arms, something inside you changed permanently. You were no longer just a forced wife, nor a disposable political piece. You were a mother. And through him, for the first time, you felt alive.

You became fierce. Attentive. Intolerant of even the smallest mistake concerning him.

You would snatch him from the arms of handmaidens if they held him too loosely.

You gave the maesters strict instructions on which remedies he could or couldn’t be given when he cried.

You allowed no drafts, no raised voices, no cold hands near his cradle.

Even Aemond—who needed only a word to make you yield—seemed to recognize that new tension in you. Something unexpected had awakened in him as well: a quiet devotion to the child. He would stroke the boy’s hair with awkward fingers, linger silently in the doorway to watch him sleep, and rarely argued when you asked him not to lift Aerion while he was resting. Though he never shared tenderness with you, he seemed to respect — perhaps even fear — the fury that motherhood had awoken in you.

You were both guardians of the child. But you were more than that—you were a she-wolf with her cub. And no one dared to challenge you.

Until they did.

One afternoon, in the septon’s gardens, as you strolled with Aerion wrapped in his hand-knitted woolen cloak, you heard the syrupy, sickly-sweet voice of Lady Merel Florent—a court lady and a favorite of the queen for her obedience and loyalty. She was holding a child with an absurdly oversized head, cradling him as though he were a trophy earned by her womb.

"Sometimes nature rewards beauty… and forgets judgment," she murmured with soft laughter as she passed by, glancing sideways at Aerion. "A pity that some children are born with so little future… as delicate and empty as their mothers."

You didn’t think twice.

"It’s not my fault that my Aerion wasn’t born with a big, empty head like your baby, Lady Merel," you said in a tone so sharp and calm that even the leaves seemed to stop rustling for a moment.

Silence fell instantly. The laughter died. The color drained from her face.

You said nothing more. You rose with the sleeping child resting against your chest and returned inside without looking back.

That night, when you returned to your chambers, Aemond was already waiting. Sitting by the window, his profile bathed in the torchlight from the courtyard below. He didn’t need to raise his voice.

"Does it fulfill you, humiliating a lady in front of half the court?" he asked, not looking at you directly.

You knew he wasn’t there by choice. The queen had sent him—there was no doubt. That lady and her child mattered to him as much as the carvings on the pillars in the great hall. But you had dared to speak. To laugh at someone in public. And what he couldn’t allow was for people to believe he couldn’t keep you in check.

You didn’t answer.

You turned your back to him, walking toward the bed with deliberately slow steps. Your fingers moved to the ties that held your dress at the sides. You wanted it to be clear that you were tired. That you had no interest in entertaining a discussion driven by a man’s wounded pride. That he wasn’t important enough to deserve even a reply.

"I asked you a question. Answer me," he repeated, this time stepping closer. His steps were heavy, determined. The creak of his boots on the stone floor filled the room.

"Answer me!" he snapped, grabbing your wrist tightly, stopping the motion of your hands.

You raised your face to him, furious—without fear, without pleading.

"Let me go! Don’t act like you care! Don’t pretend to be the offended husband when all you do is ignore me until you find something to punish!" you spat the words, your face flushed with rage, your voice trembling—but steady.

Aemond didn’t move.

His fingers still gripped your wrist, tighter than necessary, and his eye—usually cold, measured—locked onto yours with an unfamiliar, almost dangerous intensity.

“You never care about anything I do,” you added in a broken whisper, heavy with exhaustion. A truth spoken on the verge of tears, less out of anger and more from years of accumulated indifference.

Then it happened.

There was no warning.

He didn’t raise his voice.

He didn’t shout.

His hand, swift and almost automatic, cut through the air and struck your cheek with a sharp, clear smack that seemed to silence the entire room.

The blow turned your face to the side. For a moment, time stopped; the burning spread across your skin like a flame, more from disbelief than from the pain itself.

He had never done that.

Never.

Not Aemond.

You stared at him, mouth agape, still tearless, as if your mind was still trying to process what had just happened. He, for his part, said nothing. No apology, no word of warning. He only lowered his hand slowly, as if only then realizing what he had done.

You broke like a child who had held back tears for too long.

First came the trembling of your lips. Then your throat tightened, your chest pressed as if the air had become thick and painful to breathe. Finally, the crying burst forth with a silent, heartbreaking force, as if it had been building somewhere deep inside you for months.

You only cried.

It was barely a muffled whimper, as if your soul had given way before your body. The first tear fell without permission, then another, and another, until your hands could no longer hide your face and your breath trembled like a leaf in winter.

You didn’t know how long you stayed that way, alone in the room, hunched over the edge of the bed, hugging yourself. The door remained closed. The silence was thick, almost cruel, and deep down, you knew he wouldn’t come back.

You didn’t hear his footsteps. You didn’t hear the click of the door or the sound of his breathing. You only felt the weight when the mattress creaked beside you. And his warmth—that inevitable presence—when he sat at your back.

His hands didn’t touch your face or try to lift your chin. He didn’t ask for forgiveness. He didn’t whisper a single excuse. He simply wrapped one steady, encompassing arm around your waist and pulled you toward him.

Your body, tense at first, fought against the natural urge to give in. But you were tired. So tired. And when his other hand rested gently at the nape of your neck, guiding you until your forehead came to rest against his collarbone, everything you had held back spilled over in silent force.

His fingers tangled in your hair, twisted like the thoughts in your mind, and though he said nothing, though pride still burned in his eyes, his touch trembled. There was guilt there, even if he didn’t know how to name it.

He held you. That was all.

And for that night, though the damage remained, though forgiveness was neither asked nor granted, at least you weren’t alone in the dark.

#house of the dragon season 2 #hotd season 2 #aegon targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #yandere male x reader #yandere x reader #yandere x you #aemond one eye #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #house targaryen

103 notes · View notes

starglow-xx · 2 days ago

Text

rush hour!

[ sakura haruka x gn! reader ]

inspired from this scenario from this otp generator: person a and person b holding hands because there's a crowd but not letting go when they get out of it.

tags: fluff, established relationship, sakura figuring out relationships, and reader being a bit of a tease and liking his blush hehe <3

word count: a little more than 1k !

a/n: i've been dying to write for wind breaker for forever. sakura haruka you're so cute i love you sm you deserve everything good

“C’mon Haru! Don’t pout!”

Sakura sputters, a familiar red creeping on his face.

“Not pouting!”

While your lovely boyfriend is “not” pouting, he follows you through the streets of the shopping district, as you search for a gift for your friend’s birthday.

He yawns, but makes sure to keep an eye on you so he doesn’t lose you somehow, knowing your habit of wandering off. If you both got separated, it would’ve been more bothersome for him after all.

He was planning on spending the day off from school at home, but you had other plans and showed up at his door bright and early and practically dragged him out.

At the thought, he can’t help but scowl a little at how easily you bossed him around in his own home. The treatment from his friends is one thing, but from you too?

He knows you all mean well, not really meaning it when he yells at the guy in his class or you to get out, not truly anyways, but he keeps his endearment to himself. He can already see how you’d all tease him for it.

You look back again at Sakura and smile, seeing his scowl as he gets lost in thought. He’s so cute.

You slowed your pace and without warning planted a soft kiss on his cheek.

He just about falls over, nearly tripping over his own feet, spluttering again. Your smile is still there, a little more amused if anything, but also soft.

“Thank you for coming with me today Haruka”

He looks away, red still tinted on his cheeks as he mumbles, “...s’ nothing.”

You hum, pleased, and continue to match your pace with his, walking next to him now as you look around at all the stalls and stores out and about.

He takes a peek at you when you’re not looking and his gaze falls towards your free hand, feeling his own twitch. Sakura feels his cheeks get hot again and he quickly looks away.

You’re always so patient and gentle with him when it comes to your relationship, and it makes his eyes prick with tears more often than not.

It pisses him off that he has a hard time doing practically anything when it comes to any displays of affection, public or otherwise because you just seem so…unbothered about it, just being too understanding.

You’ve reassured him that you don’t mind that he’s not so openly affectionate, but you have to be a little disappointed in him right?

He can swing his fists and backflip into kicks no problem, but holding hands? With you? The thought alone makes his heart pound and hands sweat. But…it’s not like he doesn’t want to. That’s what makes him so nervous. What if he does something wrong? What if you don’t want to hold his hand after all?

Before he could dwell much more about it, all of a sudden, a huge wave of people just started to walk past you both from both directions.

He hears you yelp and his head snaps back, seeing you struggle with the crowd.

You lock eyes with him and you can’t help but call out for him, slight panic in your voice.

“H-Haru!”

He tries to get to you, ignoring all the people bumping into him, all his focus on getting to you.

He reaches out for you, struggling a little bit as someone knocks into him again.

“Oi!”

He manages to take a hold of your hand and tugs you forward as he makes a path through the crowd, looking back every so often to make sure you’re okay.

Staring at the back of his head, then to your linked hands, you can’t help the light pink flush that dusts across your cheeks, keeping quiet as he maneuvers you both through the sudden wave of people.

Eventually, he leads you both to a quieter part of the street, grumbling about the sudden onslaught of people and how they were bumping into you.

You stay silent as he complains, realizing that Sakura himself probably hasn’t realized your linked hands, much less how he was the one to initiate, even if it was to rescue you from the crowd.

As a little experiment, you squeeze his hand and you nearly trip when he suddenly stops, and you watch as his face becomes as red as one of Umemiya’s tomatoes. Sakura suddenly lets go of your hand, stammering as you stare.

“T-That was nothin! I-It was just because of that stupid crowd! I didn’t mean to grab onto your stupid hand I–WAIT don’t get the wrong idea I was just—!”

Sakura’s breath hitches as you start to laugh, clearly finding the whole thing funny, and Sakura starts to yell, more embarrassed than anything.

“Stop laughing at me! It’s not funny you–!”

You beam at him, eyes shimmering with mirth.

“Aw, does Sakura Haruka, Furin class 1-1 grade captain want to hold my hand? You’re so cute Haru, of course you can hold my hand!”

He practically stomps away, having enough of your teasing and you laugh again, catching up to him, your grin widening when he grumbles and takes your hand in his without another word.

Your grin softens into a gentle smile as the two of you walk in peace, and in your head, your original mission of the day gets pushed back for the meantime, intending on savoring as much time as possible holding your fickle, but kind boyfriend’s hand.

You gently swing your joined hands, the moment serene and peaceful as the sun shines bright above and the cool breeze causing the wind chimes to gently tinkle, the sound accompanying the bustle of people all around you both.

Sakura lets out a soft breath, feeling the familiar pang of warmth he feels in his heart that only happens when he’s with you.

But you just have to ruin the moment because in clear disregard for your life (not that he would ever hurt you), you poke fun at him one last time.

“...Your hand is getting sweaty, Haru. Are you nervous?”

“Shaddup!”

a/n: sakura haruka you're so cute

as always, reblogs and shares are appreciated! i hope you all stay safe! and just in case nobody told you they loved you today, i love you! you are enough! <3

writing belongs to me! please do not plagiarize, repost, or translate on here or any other sites!

#sakura haruka x reader #sakura haruka #wind breaker #wind breaker x reader #sakura x reader #wbk x reader #wbk #x reader #gender neutral reader #star writes!!💫#star’s fics!! [🎐]

73 notes · View notes

toothloveslego · 3 days ago

Note

hi! can i request general domestic hcs of UT, UF and US bros with s/o? have a nice week! ^.^

Coming right up :)

Sorry i took actual eons due to a variety if factors my writting has generally fallen on the back burner :(

I hope you like it

Sans

- Lots of napping together

- Tells you random fun facts about science and such

- Will nerdy ramble about science to you

- Fixes anything that breaks so you dont have to worry about it

- Loves to spoon

- Hes loves being the little spoon

- Either way hes happy

- Hes is a great listener no matter the issue sans is willing to listen and give some great advice

- If your just standing there he will put his whole weight on you

- Hugs from behind (unless it makes you uncomfortable)

- Hes a nuzzler he loves nuzzling against your neck

Papyrus

- cooks for you alot if your sad, happy or anything really he will cook for you

- Will info dump to you about random topics usually about cars or the royal guard

- Will macitence your car or bike for you

- He will and does treat you like royalty

- He checks in on your selfcare often just to make sure your taking care of yourself

- He loves being big spoon makes him feel like hes protecting you

- However he generally prefers to cuddle facing you so he can see your face

- Brags about you to everyone

- Love to drag you outside to workout (sorry)

- His favourite place to go on dates is the aquarium

Red

- he will boost your confidence any chance he gets he may not look it but he loves praising his date-mate this can be something as simple as a “hey sexy” or a flurry of compliments

- He loves to grumble both at and to you, when he gets mad he apologizes awkwardly with flowers cause most the time its his anger more then anything

- Anyone who hurts you magically disappears

- Loves to kiss you to see you embarrassed in public he finds it funny

- If you attack back hes gets EXTREMELY FLUSTERED and CANNOT handle it

- He loves big spooning but he typically prefers being able to see your face when holding you

- Will tease you and is an asshole about it

- Despite all his talk hes actually more a of a cuddler and preffers it as a form of affection

Edge

- loves to carry you it makes him feel strong

- Big spoon all the way, he wants to curl around you and hold you make sure your all protected

- He will be cooking for you balanced meals all the time no choice about it

- Forces you to self care agressively he loves you too much to let you not self care

- Quick kisses between tasks when hes cooking ect

- Guard dog energy

- Dare look at something at the shop and hes bought it for you

- Smother mother for self care

#undertale #fanfic #underfell #fell sans #author #fanfic writter #utmv #sans x reader #underswap #fell papyrus

34 notes · View notes

wrydemonandslychild · 19 hours ago

Text

i know they say love is trust but i disagree with this. ciel fully trusts sebastian with his life but he doesn't fully trust sebastian with his heart.

yes, he expresses affection by defending him verbally in the circus/luxury liner arc, trying to help him onto the boat during the lifeboat scene, telling him he did well, etc... but he doesn't want sebastian to know that he's 'weak', that he's human. that's one of the reasons he pushes his friends away, he doesn't want to have to grieve them in front of sebastian. he doesn't want to care about people because he doesn't want sebastian to see him care. it's like how he says he wants to advertise to the orphans so they pressure their parents to buy them funtom toys (what parents ..?). ciel's words at the end of the red butler arc are another example of him deflecting from his kindness.

they also say love is understanding but i also disagree with this. ciel seems to think that sebastian in the manga right now is the same sebastian of season 2.

to explain: ciel thinks showing emotional weakness in front of sebastian will make him look down on him. this impression of him is probably due to the day they met. sebastian also thinks ciel looks down on him and sees him as a dog because of that day. the day they met has caused walls to be put up between them.

to put it succinctly, sebastian and ciel are two characters who have fundamentally misunderstood each other, deeply so.

sebastian knows how kind ciel is and yet he still hasn't been able to figure out the extent of ciel's affection for him. he doesn't understand that when ciel tells him it's okay that he sits in first class in the train and from then on, he always sits in first class, that means ciel doesn't look down on him. when he makes him lie down and eat a shitty porridge, it means he cares. when he says his social status doesn't matter against the double charles, that means he does not fundamentally care for class. when he accepts to take the servants shopping at sebs request and doesn't question where he goes when he stops at somerset house, he is expressing that he believes in him (which is different to trust*).

*ciel doesn't trust sebastian enough to directly express his emotions in front of him. he doesn't, however, think that sebastian will ever intentionally cause him trouble. he trusts sebastian's loyalty as a butler and his aesthetics but not sebastian himself.

when he orders him tea while they sit in a first class dining spot, does sebastian believe ciel when he says it's just because he wants to stretch his legs? do you believe him? from ciel's perspective, he knows that sebastian fundamentally does not like fighting undertaker (because he might lose) but in the manor when r!ciel returned, he tried to. he knows that sebastian didn't sign up for battling against a reaper who wants to bring the dead back to life. as much as he considers sebs cold, he knows agni and sebastian were at least on good terms and saw sebs' reaction to his death. he thinks sebastian isn't capable of being upset about all this. but sebastian is. it's evident from the way he's so snide and harsh on the dinner table towards bard and his expression when lau mentions india. ciel might not think seb is upset/annoyed with this situation but he treats him as though he is.

he treats him with care despite not trusting him, he treats him like a human, despite thinking he's a beast. he doesn't understand him but regardless he shows him compassion. and i think that's higher than a love where you know the person in front of you is good and deserving of your love. if you love someone despite not thinking they're capable of caring for you back and knowing they will destroy you when given the chance (see: green witch arc), do you not think that love is beyond anything built on trust and understanding?

it is the most selfless, altruistic act of love.

sebastian does not know how cared for he is, he only knows that ciel doesn't see him capable of any human emotion (which he does have to some extent, when he said he would compensate modri, that was empathy and guilt), he thinks he's seen as a lowly dog by ciel (but we know ciel likes dogs, as we know sebastian made him feel safe despite being "mean" to him) and he thinks ciel cares about his class, wealth and luxuries (this is the same person who wanted to be a middle class toy maker since he was 9 btw)... and yet he still protects ciel with his life (literally), does everything to ciel's benefit (even when he's not ordered to) and gets him the best clothes to express that he believes in him* (again, misunderstanding ciel's attachment to wealth).

*during the school arc, he has already ordered a tailored version of the cox outfit for ciel because ciel had said he would win. in the current arc, he orders a full set of clothes because ciel said he would get his title back. he believes in him but he doesn't understand him.

hs even tries to get ciel to go out and explore brighton in the recent chapters. but why? shouldn't he want this to be over as soon as possible? no because despite being misunderstood as a beast by ciel, while deep inside he enjoys being a human servant for ciel playing a game with him, he is willing to act like a monster at ciel's behest (green witch arc). is that not a potent form of love? to know you are not understood or trusted but still behaving in a trustworthy way and with good intentions? even though he cannot change ciel's perception of him, he still tries to make ciel happy (remember, he always tells elizabeth that she makes ciel happy, he even questions why she's fighting him in the blue cult arc by saying, "you always wanted to make the young master happy, why are you doing this?" paraphrase). and is that not a higher form of love? to know someone does not trust or know/understand you but loving them anyway? to know they will never see you as a fellow person despite any humanity you show and yet trying to bring them happiness anyway?

it is the most selfless, altruistic act of love.

#sebaciel #syanalyses #doing a lot of analyses on this blog #flash analysis #until i can do main blogs' analyses #it's coming i promise

39 notes · View notes

chlosallow · 2 days ago

Text

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ introducing... overthinker!reader

star, esther. 19. જ⁀➴

long hair. hypersensitive. never sleeps. stargazing. big eyes. cries when angry. feels everything deeply. keeps polaroids in her phone case. music - lana del rey. likes reassurance. listener instead of yapper. likes being wrapped in blankets. likes to write her feelings. reader. likes sitting with a pillow on her lap. very observant. gift giver. fidgets with her jewelry. star gazing.

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ closed-off!chris

chris, christopher. 20. જ⁀➴

whispers when he’s sad or nervous. very hesitant when touching her. can’t text in one message. makes sure she feels seen. always hides his face in his pillow when he cries. talks with his hands. when he smiles his eyes crinkle. stutters when he’s excited. always ask before doing anything sexual, even if she’s said yes multiple times in the past.

you are my star.

"you never talk to me. it's like i'm dating a ghost at times." she murmurs, feeling her throat burn up with the urge to cry. she barely holds her tears back as she stares down at the pillow in her lap.

chris just stares forward as he sits on the other side of the couch. he blinks a few times, swallowing hard as he lets out a breath.

what was there to say? i'm sorry? it's just the way i'm wired?

there was nothing to say.

she slowly turns her head to look at chris only to shake her head. her fingers move to her silver hoop earrings, fidgeting with them. she can't help but to feel her eyes start to water, her mind playing tricks on her.

she knew chris loved her. it was obvious with the way he looked at her or with the gifts he had gotten her when she doesn't even remember telling him that she wanted it.

chris feels her eyes on him and slowly turns to look at her, hating the way her eyes looked when they locked eyes. they were red and filled with tears, the occasional tears falling down her cheeks at times.

he doesn't like talking about his feelings like this. he hates it. hates admitting how much she has affected him. hates seeing her cry because of him.

"i- star i'm sorry. i'm sorry, okay? i try my hardest for you. i really do." he says, trying not to repeat himself or stutter too much. his hands move to tap on his knee repeatedly, his leg bouncing.

she looks away quickly as she hears him stutter, shaking her head to try and convince herself that she was being dramatic. she was just a big sensitive baby.

he lets out a sigh, rubbing his hands down his face before shifting closer to her, sitting right next to her. he slowly moves his hand up to wrap around her shoulders but hesitates, his hand hovering over her. she could feel his hand over her shoulder but doesn't say anything, just nodding.

he lets out a relieved breath and slowly lowers his hand onto her shoulder, pulling her closer to his side, her head falling onto his shoulder.

"star.. baby.. you mean the world to me and- and i know i can be better with my words and how i treat you sometimes. i understand that. i'm trying my hardest though."

she slowly looks up at him, her eyes softening as tears fall down her cheeks. chris brings his free hand to cup her cheek and shakes his head, his thumb wiping her wet cheeks.

"you are the star in my life sweetheart. and i wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you. so please.. please believe me when i say i'm trying my best for you. to learn how to be the best person you deserve. to be your star."

#⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ chlosallow #✧₊⁺ overthinker!reader #✧₊⁺ closed-off!chris #°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ chlosallow au #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chlosallow blurb

34 notes · View notes

0asterous0 · 3 days ago

Note

Spare pre-love-ranch majorwood snippet? 🥺🥺🤲🤲

Before they broke up

Scott steps into their apartment carrying three plastic bags after a quick trip to the supermarket. He had a long shift back in the restaurant, but had to take a little detour before coming back, when Martyn called him about their fridge being almost empty. He has no idea how both of them managed to miss that, considering how they are the ones who cook in this house, but well, someone had to go shopping, and it definitely wasn't Martyn.

"This isn't even a real source, oh my god!" Cleo's voice from the laptop reaches him as soon as Scott steps into the kitchen. The room is open, leading into a dining room, where Martyn is sitting right now, his laptop and papers on the table, spread in a usual messy manner.

"What's up?" He asks loudly enough that both Martyn and Cleo can hear him as he puts the bags down on the kitchen table.

Martyn immediately looks up, smiling at him, before he sighs overdramatically and leans back into the chair. "Our group member is messing with our assignment again! I wrote my part - he said, and then gave it to us, with no real source, no real proof, not a single actual study mentioned!"

"We have to rewrite his whole part, because let's be honest, he won't do shit," Cleo snorts from the other side, followed by a shuffle of papers.

"Oh, he's not gonna last long in the course," Martyn adds, stretching as he sighs down at the papers.

"Is this a paper about memories?" Scott asks curiously, moving to the dining hall and circling around Martyn, to put his chin on Martyn's blonde hair, while he looks down at the laptop, noticing a google document open, with Cleo's camera feed on the top right corner.

"Yeah," Martyn hums, leaning into Scott, as he moves his hand up, softly brushing it against Scott's cheek. "Specifically, how trauma affects those memories."

"Agh, get a room," Cleo scoffs, making Scott chuckle.

"You're just jealous," Martyn smirks, moving his hand on the back of Scott's neck to pull him down into a kiss. Scott giggles into the kiss, cupping Martyn's cheeks, while Cleo makes another gagging noise.

"Call me back when you two are done with romance," they say, immediately cutting off the call before Martyn can say anything.

The kiss breaks with a laugh from both of them, as Martyn reaches forward and closes the laptop, standing up from his chair. "I see you got the fooood, I'm so hungry right now, I think I might explode," he says, taking Scott's hand and tugging him toward the kitchen.

"I got us some ramen, living up to your name of a broke student," Scott snorts, as Martyn reaches into the bags, taking out everything Scott bought.

"Ha ha, very funny, Scott!" Martyn says mockingly, but the softness doesn't leave his tone, as he teases his boyfriend. "Plus, you have the money, so I'm not actually broke if you think about it!"

"Oh, so that's what I am to you? My money?" Scott pouts as he brushes his hand into Martyn's hair, placing a quick smooch on his neck. The look that Martyn gives him at that makes him go red.

"Ah yes.. money," Martyn says, giving Scott a kiss back, making him chuckle. They are both VERY aware that Scott didn't have any money when Martyn found him, but oh well, Scott always found comfort in joking about his life.

"Come on, let's make us some ramen then," Martyn hums, taking out the little packages from the bag. "Cleo can wait a bit longer, I'm not calling back until I'm full of food and my needed Scott time."

Scott giggles, going back to the bags. It hasn't been a full year yet, but he knows that he's gotten used to this life by now. And surprisingly, life is finally good again.

#asterouswrites #love ranch au #love ranch talk #trafficblr #trafficshipping #life series smp #traffic series #double life #mean gills #majorwood #scottyn #scott smajor #smajor1995 #martyn inthelittlewood #martyn itlw

38 notes · View notes

mishaapocalypsse · 2 days ago

Note

hiii 💕 may i request Soldier Boy x (fem) reader? like she's really insecure about her appearance, being a bit chubby but without the "curvy" stereotype and she can't help but compare herself to Crimson Countess and can't believe that a man like him would even turn to look at her.

pd. Congratulations on getting engaged! ♡

|| Waiting For A Girl Like You||

Pairings: Soldier Boy x Chubby! Reader

Warnings: None, except some adult language, and sexual themes.

More under the line!

PS: Not engaged anymore...long story short...not the person for me. Anyway, enjoy this after two years lol.

You didn’t wear red.

Not because you didn’t like it—hell, you loved it. It was bold, confident, striking. But it reminded you too much of her. Crimson Countess. With that hourglass silhouette, those legs for miles, that cleavage like a goddamn billboard. She was the kind of woman comic books were built around, a living pin-up.

You? You couldn’t even look in the mirror without that tightness in your chest. The softness of your arms, the slight roll of your belly when you sat down, the way jeans always cut into your waist even if they fit in the legs—it all just felt wrong. Like you were the before photo in an ad that had never aired.

And yet… somehow, Soldier Boy looked at you.

Sometimes.

And God, did that make it worse.

It started with glances.

Quick, casual, meaningless. You’d tell yourself that. Had to. Because the second you believed they meant anything more, your mind would immediately summon her. What he used to have. What he wanted back.

What you could never be.

He’d crash on your couch when he wasn’t laying low in some safe house, mumble about how the others were all assholes, flick his Zippo and pretend not to notice the way your voice dipped when you answered his questions. You tried to hide it—your affection. Your awe. Your hunger.

It was embarrassing. You knew better. He was Soldier Boy.

And you? You were just… the chubby girl who blended into the crowd. Not curvy in the glamorized way. Just soft. Plain. The one who made herself small in pictures and avoided full-body mirrors.

But tonight, something shifted.

He was drunk. Or high. Or both. Slouched on your couch, boots kicked off, green eyes fixed on the TV but unfocused. His flannel hung open over a stained white tee, his dog tags glinting dully against his chest. You padded into the living room barefoot, arms crossed over your oversized shirt.

“You ever heard of pants?” he drawled, voice rough like sandpaper dipped in honey.

You flinched. Then looked down. Just a long tee and bare thighs. Chubby ones.

“I’m at home,” you muttered, tugging the hem down. “Didn’t know I needed to dress up for company.”

He turned his head toward you. Really looked at you.

And it was a problem.

His gaze lingered on your legs, then back up to your face—lazy, appraising. But not cruel. Not mocking. It made you burn.

“I like it,” he said. Simple. Grunted it out like a truth too obvious to need repeating.

You blinked.

“Don’t mess with me,” you whispered, almost too soft to hear.

His brow furrowed. “I’m not.”

You stared at him.

“You don’t have to pretend,” you said, heart thudding. “I’m not Crimson Countess. I know what I look like.”

His expression darkened. He sat forward, arms on his knees, cigarette ash dusting the carpet.

“Don’t say that name around me.”

You flinched again, but this time from his tone. Like it hurt him. Like it stabbed.

“She was... the perfect kind of beautiful,” you mumbled anyway. “Not like me. You know that.”

There was a silence that felt like walking a tightrope in a storm. Then:

“The hell I do.”

You looked at him, startled.

Soldier Boy stood, slow and deliberate, towering over you now. That flannel, that stubble, that barely restrained violence. You took a step back instinctively.

“I knew a woman who wore red like it was war paint,” he said, eyes cold. “Who kissed like a lie and smiled like a blade. Who turned on me the second I wasn’t useful anymore.”

His voice dropped, rough with memory.

“She was never soft with me. Not once.”

You swallowed. Your hands trembled.

“I’m not useful,” you murmured, meaning I’m not pretty. “I’m not—why would someone like you even look at someone like me?”

He stared at you for a long, weighted moment.

Then he closed the space.

“Because you’re real,” he said, biting off each word. “Because you don’t flinch when I lose it. Because you make eggs without acting like I’m a fucking monster. Because your laugh sounds like something I didn’t think existed anymore.”

His voice cracked. Just a little.

“And yeah, because you’re pretty. You’re fucking gorgeous. And if you ever say otherwise again, I swear to God—”

Your breath hitched.

“Say it again,” you whispered.

He blinked. “What?”

“That I’m pretty.”

It came out small. Desperate.

His face softened. Just barely. The tension bled from his shoulders, and he touched your cheek like he didn’t trust his hand not to ruin you.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, like it hurt to admit. Like he didn’t know how to say it right. “Not in some picture-perfect, pin-up bullshit way. In a way that makes me feel like maybe I’m not dead inside.”

You made a small, broken sound.

His thumb traced your cheekbone. Rough fingertip, tender pressure.

“I don’t know what the hell this is,” he muttered. “But when I’m with you, I don’t wanna blow shit up. I just… wanna stay. Eat breakfast. Watch dumb TV.”

You couldn’t help the tears that welled. You hated that. But his hand cupped the back of your neck and pulled you in.

“I see you,” he said, voice low. “Every inch. Every curve. Every soft part you hate. I see it. And I want it all.”

You melted.

And when he kissed you—gruff and clumsy and starved—it didn’t feel like a fantasy. It felt real. Heavy with scars, trembling with need.

You weren’t Crimson Countess.

You were something he had chosen.

And for the first time in a long, long time, you let yourself believe it.

#jensen ackles #jensen ackled #askmishapoc #the boys #solder boy x reader #the boys soldier boy #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy fic #soldier boy x female reader

22 notes · View notes

dandysworld-meh-imagines · 9 hours ago

Note

Hi!! I’m the person who requested the Looey x twisted reader headcannons.

I’m here again to request twisted sprout x reader pretty please!

Twisted Sprout With The Reader Headcanons!

Hello again, dear!! I remember you! Incoming twisted strawberry food!! Someone tell me I'm not the only one who like getting spotted by him cuz he lets out a whole scream sksks but here you go, dear! Thank you for requesting! <3

-Anna

-You thought a twisted almost your size was scary? How about one that was the TALLEST? The good news for you is that Sprout was able to recognize you.. a bit too quickly. Well, something about you running away from danger made his overprotective instincts light up again as he rushed to help you. He might not have cupcakes anymore but he was definitely reliable with his huge claw hand and tendrils spawning wherever he wants them to. With just one red painful eye and the other covered in ichor though? He really tries his best to keep an eye on you, especially when the other twisteds want to injure you well.

-Funnily enough, Sprout's very tall size can be used to your advantage when walking around, because that's what almost every twisted is going to notice first! They usually don't notice you first and even if they do later on, Sprout is already intimidating enough that they usually walk away with frustration. The ones that go for you first? Sprout doesn't really like it but he raises his hand and WILL scream to scare them away, if it doesn't work, Sprout has the tendril ready riiight underneath them, trapping them for a good while so they don't dare get closer to you.

-Good luck wanting privacy because Sprout won't leave you alone, he feels like he had failed to protect you when he has become like this but even though he can't join you in other floors (he doesn't trust himself if he is around your teammates, even if he feels like protecting them too), he really hopes you stay safe in future floors, he even tries talking to you but all that comes out is this.. muffled, very weird sound. His mouth IS covered by ichor after all. You definitely notice his shoulders dropping when you look up at him kinda startled from the noise, Sprout wishes he could talk with you again, his precious one.

-He does really enjoy it when you talk though, especially because he very much missed hearing your voice he so adored. Even though he can't really reply, he does do gestures and more to show you that he is listening. Sprout might not understand all your words but your tone does say something to him. You find out that smaller words that were repeated often was something he does seem to at least understand. It's also pretty cute how he sits down, just looking down at you with this quite soft expression as you ramble. If you are the type to stand up and move around, his eye will always follow you curiously. Even though it's kinda sad, you still find it somewhat cute when he tilts his head at you a little if he didn't understand anything.

-If things get serious, Sprout hesitates a lot doing this because he doesn't want the ichor sticking to you though he protects you with his huge hand, blocking any attacks that were coming your way. He doesn't like hurting his old friends but he does push them back kinda hard with his hand, growling at them. When the twisted gets up still though? Sprout used his tendril to grip on their leg tightly so they won't come closer to you, he refuses to let it happen. Afterwards, he picks you up in his arms as he walks around. It's pretty scary seeing anything from this height but with Sprout trying to control his grip on you, you feel like you will get caught if you ever slipped from his arms, something he also won't allow.

-Showing affection between the two of you can be tricky. Sprout feels hesitant a lot because of the ichor covering a large part of his whole body but he doesn't really mind it if you want to hold his free hand or cuddle the side of him that doesn't have ichor. He knows that touching ichor won't automatically make you a twisted but it's still something he fears, especially because if he ever sees you as a twisted, it would definitely break him. With enough convincing or you not minding the ichor sticking on you, he.. might allow it. He couldn't lie though, he really really missed holding you like this. He's definitely the big spoon no matter what, he doesn't want you really out of his sight.

-You hear soft growls from him as he stands guard behind you while doing machines. Nothing much goes on in his mind other than to protect you and make sure absolutely nothing gets near. Sprout isn't exactly the type to wait for twisteds to get near him or you to take action, he always uses his tendrils to give a warning from afar to them to stay out of this area. He is pretty desperate in this, even using more than one tendril to hold a twisted down completely so you will never have to worry about them getting to you. If you want, he can even go out and find all the twisteds himself, taking them down for you and your team to complete this floor. He avoids getting close to your teammates, though. He thinks he might accidentally hurt them.

-Whenever he hears the ding sound from the machine, Sprout comes back to you and he accompanies you throughout the entire floor. One thing he likes to do is pick up items from the floor and hold onto them or even give them to you if you have enough room for them in your inventory. He holds onto everything and leaves them outside of the elevator, even if some of the items had ichor on them, well.. the candies are still edible, right?? But everything you can't pick and hold onto for the entire floor, Sprout definitely can and that's what he does. He can't really help with machines (not with those big ass hands) but he can at least be useful in other stuff!

-Sprout always keeps his distance when the last machine is finally done and the entire team makes it back to the elevator. Even if the alarms freaks him out, he can control himself and go for the twisteds that were potentially hunting you or a teammate. If everyone is on the elevator, he stands still as he watches you for the last time for a good while as the elevator door closes down. He doesn't know how to feel as he slowly turns around and starts wandering again, just hoping that you stay safe, especially because he can't be there for you to save you in the future. He can't lie, though, he feels.. empty when you are gone. He didn't even realize his aching body starting to hurt again this fast. Seems like spending time with you again helped him forget the pain.

-Sprout doesn't know whether to hope you come down to his floor again, because if you do, that means that you must be struggling to avoid all the twisteds in all the other floors and encountering danger like no tomorrow. He wished he wasn't a twisted anymore so he could protect and stay by your side as well as your teammates. He does yearn for you a lot and he does want you around, holding you close to his arms so nothing could ever harm you ever again but he knows that's just not possible. He hopes you don't end up like him, he loves you too much that even imagining you as a twisted makes him feel awful.

Thank you for reading! <3

#sprout seedly x reader #sprout x reader #twisted sprout x reader #dw sprout x reader #dw sprout #twisted sprout #dandy's world x reader #dandys world x reader #dandy's world #dandys world #dandys world sprout #dandys world sprout seedly #dandy's world sprout #dandy's world sprout seedly #writing #fluff #semi angst #gender neutral

37 notes · View notes

bigfatbimbo · 2 days ago

Note

you DEFINITELY have to write some sub!headcanons for josh I want that fat nerd 🙏🙏

a/n — adult josh, obviously. hence the epilogue josh pictures.

warnings — dom!reader, sub!Josh, no gender mentioned, NSFW

summary — sub!Josh x dom!reader headcanons and drabble

Josh’s attempt at being dominant would be lackluster and almost pathetic; he wouldn’t be doing it because he wanted to, but because he thinks he has too.

His masculinity is very fragile, much like his ego, but not to the extreme someone like Bills is. Which is why Josh is one of the more probable subs of the characters.

Especially when he’s an adult and away from his horrible friend group (Bill, Bill, specifically Bill, I am talking about Bill).

Push him down and tell him you’re the one leading, first he’ll be a little confused. “Isn’t that kinda… faggy?”

But if you rationalize with him a little bit more I think he’d crack. “No Josh, sex is really just stimulation. Don’t think too hard about it; it’s gonna feel good.”

Getting into the sex itself:

Josh would have the biggest praise kink.

He grew up constantly being insulted and talked down to by everyone important to him, he literally needs to hear your approval.

It’d be really complicated for him, and take a little bit to get used to. He genuinely thinks you’re making fun of him at first.

This would make him sort of a brat at first, and you’d definitely have to tame that side of him.

That being said, you definitely could.

Josh would definitely love a soft dom more than anything; someone to be gentle with him and give him all the love and affection he never got.

However, because he’s a brat, some discipline would be required.

Super easy to make him beg.

He’s so pathetic and desperate, he’ll be begging for you after seconds of not getting what he wants.

Loud: lots of whimpers and whines.

He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it at first, and when you tell him he gets very embarrassed.

”W-well, it’s not my fault! That’s just anyone’s natural reaction to that kinda thing..”

Tell him how good he looks during sex, how cute and handsome he is.

If he can really tell you mean it, that’s the kinda thing that would make him cum on the spot. Or even cry!

Into role playing (DUH), and he would call you mistress/master depending on the scenario.

It would take some convincing, but yes, he would probably let you peg him.

“There we go, pretty boy,” you slide onto Josh’s member with a wet slap, drawing a whimper out of him. “Nice and easy.”

Josh squeezes his eyes shut as you start to ride him. With one hand, he covers his mouth to keep himself quiet.

Noticing this, you tut, “Hey, nononono, noise is good, baby. You don’t have to keep quiet,” you pull his hands away softly and Josh’s face goes red.

“Hey, come on! L-let me keep some dignity—“ he interrupts himself with a yelp as you suddenly speed up.

Josh whines, hands instinctively coming back to cover his face, before you catch them and pin them to his sides. He whines with frustration.

“What did I say Josh?” You say sternly, voice wavering as you ride him faster. “Why don’t you behave yourself for me.”

Once again he lets out a desperate whimper, and noises flow out of him like music as you continue to hump him.

You gaze down at him; his ponytail came undone slightly, strands of hair curling naturally from the sweat on his forehead, and his eyes changed between half lidded to fully closed, as his eyes brows curved up pitifully. He looked so blissed out.

“God, so handsome for me, baby boy,” you coo down at him, planting a kiss on his cheek against his rough stubble.

“N-no, ‘m not… don’t say that!” he whimpered, voice breaking as his climax builds. He bites his lip, knowing he’d be scolded for cumming so fast.

You continue to kiss his face, “No, my baby, so cute. The most handsome boy in the world.” He moans loudly, hissing as he bucks up into you.

“Oh please let me cum, please, please—“ he drones on, almost incoherently babbling.

You sigh, it hadn’t even been five minutes. But oh well, he’d been good for you. “Of course, my cutie, whenever you want.”

**TELL ME ABOUT ANY TYPOS.

#welcome to eltingville #x reader #the eltingville club x reader #eltingville x oc #eltingville x reader #eltingville josh #josh levy x reader #josh levy x oc #sub male character #dom reader

40 notes · View notes

debbiesdead · 1 day ago

Text

1. Do you have an alternate name? What is it?

debbie 😊

2. Which of your family members do you miss the most? Why

my daughters. maybe my mum and (step)dad but i feel less connected to them. i miss my oldest daughter coz i feel like i failed her & my youngest was too young to know anything

3. Which of your friends do you miss the most? Why?

lol i didnae have friends but i guess F even though i dont remember shit about him

4. What's a very minor difference between you and your source

im not dead 🤪 lol but i dont smoke or drink or do drugs & im younger even than the body

5. What's one thing you and your source would disagree with and one thing you would agree with

ehhh i dinnae know and i dont want to speculate

6. Are there any conspiracy theories surrounding your source? What? How do you feel about them

skip idk

7. What's your favorite thing about yourself? Connecting to source or not

im alive ✌️ im better than my source was. she was fucked up and i never did any of that stuff (even tho it feels like i did)

8. Do you have a habit that relates to your source in a way people wouldn't understand? Can you explain it?

ehmmm i dunno. maybe craving cigarettes and alcohol and self harm, but i think most people would probably get that

9. Free space! Ask whatever

✌️

10. What's a question you want people to ask you? What's the answer to that question

"are you ok?" and the answer is "never have been m8". im being irreverent but idk. i guess it would be nice for people to see me as "me" but im scared as hell of that too

11. How old are you (alter age)? How does that compare to your age in source? Does it affect your memories?

i kind of feel like im in my early-mid 20s most of the time? bodily we're nearly 30, and my source was 29-30 when she died. so i dunno. i guess most of the time my "memories" feel a bit jumbled and confused, like my kids are always changing ages and i dunno how i feel about anything

12. Does your system have roles/jobs? If so, what's yours?

maybe a trauma/memory/emotion holder or something, i dont really know. i showed up when we were discovering a lot of things about my source so maybe im just our way of dealing with all of the unresolved shit related to that.

13. Who in the system are you closest with?

M, the main system protector. its funny coz he has the same name as someone my source had really fucking complicated memories about (her brother). i wonder if thats why i feel kind of like he's my sibling. but also he's kind of not? it's hard to explain, we're like the same person but also siblings but also exes.

14. How does your source affect your day to day?

i dunno. i just feel like shit when i think about her, about who i was. i know i wasnt LITERALLY her but it feels like i was. i just feel sad and shit that everything went so wrong and that im stuck feeling like this all the time.

16. How source connected are you? Are you a postfactive?

dunno what that means tbh

17. What's problematic about your source? How do you feel about it

abused my kids. stabbed a guy. tried to kill myself. made everybody's life hell. you know how it is.

idk how i feel about it. "bad" i guess.

18. Is your source important to who you are? How so or why not?

i dunno. i guess so but i dont want her to be. its complicated. i dont want to just throw her away either but also i do??

19. Did you introject before or after the problematic thing happened? Did you introject because of it?

uhh i barely understand what this means lol. my "source" is the body's mother so like. idk use your imagination

20. How do you feel about doubles

i would be shocked if one existed. but if one does it's probably the body's sister so like, fair dos, she's entitled to one lol

21. What sets you apart from most doubles?

n/a

22. What do you have in common with your source?

fat, hate myself, like black and red lipstick, loud, angry, wallowing, love my kids, etc

23. How do you feel about your source

have we not covered that like 5 times

24. Is there any clarification you'd like to make on the relationship between you and your source? (Like, are you actually a mix between your source and something else? Are you your source person fictionalized etc)

i guess im a bit of a mix of a few things. the body's mother aye, but it's like a) her as we remember her before her death, b) her as we think of her now, as adults, able to see her as a whole person (and a tragic one), and c) the body's sister. maybe some other shit too idk.

25. How do you tell others you're a problematic factive

loooolllll i dont tell anyone i exist because they all know i was a shit mum so why would i

but anyway i dont think anyone needs to say "oh hi im problematic btw" to people. you can just be yourself

Problematic factive ask game

I made a problematic factive ask game

If you don't want to do the game on tumblr, I can find a space within the factspace (the discord) for these to go!

1. Do you have an alternate name? What is it?

2. Which of your family members do you miss the most? Why

3. Which of your friends do you miss the most? Why?

4. What's a very minor difference between you and your source

5. What's one thing you and your source would disagree with and one thing you would agree with

6. Are there any conspiracy theories surrounding your source? What? How do you feel about them

7. What's your favorite thing about yourself? Connecting to source or not

8. Do you have a habit that relates to your source in a way people wouldn't understand? Can you explain it?

9. Free space! Ask whatever

10. What's a question you want people to ask you? What's the answer to that question

11. How old are you (alter age)? How does that compare to your age in source? Does it affect your memories?

12. Does your system have roles/jobs? If so, what's yours?

13. Who in the system are you closest with?

14. How does your source affect your day to day?

16. How source connected are you? Are you a postfactive?

17. What's problematic about your source? How do you feel about it

18. Is your source important to who you are? How so or why not?

19. Did you introject before or after the problematic thing happened? Did you introject because of it?

20. How do you feel about doubles

21. What sets you apart from most doubles?

22. What do you have in common with your source?

23. How do you feel about your source

25. How do you tell others you're a problematic factive

Make sure you clarify any questions you don't want to answer

#txt #about

56 notes · View notes