#I can’t listen to it often because of that

[luna-azzurra]

Body Language Cheat Sheet For Writers 

╰ Facial expressions

These are your micro-signals, like the blinking neon signs of the soul. But they’re small, quick, and often lie harder than words.

Raised eyebrows — This can mean surprise or disbelief, sure. But it can also be a full-on, silent “Are you serious right now?” when someone’s being ridiculous. Or even curiosity when someone’s too emotionally repressed to askthe damn question.

Furrowed brow — That face people make when they’re doing long division in their head or trying to emotionally process a compliment. It’s thinking, yes—but also confusion, deep frustration, or quiet simmering rage.

Smiling — Can be happiness… or total fake-it-till-you-make-it energy. Some smiles are stiff. Some don’t reach the eyes. Show that.

Frowning — Sure, sadness. But also: disappointment, judgment, or the universal “I’m about to say something blunt, brace yourself.”

Lip biting — It’s not just nervousness, it’s pressure. Self-control. Anticipation. It’s the thing people do when they want to say something and decide, at the last second, not to.

╰ Eye movement

The window to the soul? Yeah. But also the window to when someone’s lying, flirting, or deeply trying not to cry in public.

Eye contact — Confidence or challenge. Eye contact can be gentle, curious, sharp like a blade. Sometimes it’s desperate: “Please understand me.”

Avoiding eye contact — Not always guilt. Sometimes it’s protectiveness. Sometimes it’s “I’m afraid if I look at you, you’ll see everything I’m trying to hide.”

Narrowed eyes — Calculating. Suspicious. The look someone gives when their brain’s saying “hmmm...” and it’s not a good hmm.

Wide eyes — Surprise, yes. But also sudden fear. The oh-God-it’s-happening look. Or when someone just found out they’re not as in control as they thought.

Eye roll — Classic. But try using it with tension, like when someone’s annoyed and trying very hard not to lose it in public.

╰ Gestures

This is where characters’ emotions go when their mouths are lying.

Crossing arms — Not just defensive. Sometimes it’s comfort. A self-hug. A barrier when the conversation is getting too personal.

Fidgeting — This is nervous energy with nowhere to go. Watch fingers tapping, rings spinning, sleeves tugged. It says: I’m not okay, but I’m trying not to show it.

Pointing — It’s a stab in the air. Aggressive, usually. But sometimes a desperate plea: Look. Understand this.

Open palms — Vulnerability. Honesty. Or a gesture that says, “I have nothing left to hide.”

Hand on chin — Not just thinking. It’s stalling. It’s delaying. It’s “I’m about to say something that might get me in trouble.”

╰ Posture and movement

These are your vibes. How someone occupies space says everything.

Slumped shoulders — Exhaustion. Defeat. Or someone trying to take up less space because they feel small.

Upright posture — Not always confidence. Sometimes it’s forced. Sometimes it’s a character trying really, really hard to look like they’re fine.

Pacing — Inner chaos externalized. Thinking so loudly it needs movement. Waiting for something. Running from your own thoughts.

Tapping foot — Tension. Irritation. Sometimes a buildup to an explosion.

Leaning in — Intimacy. Interest. Or subtle manipulation. (You matter to me. I’m listening. Let’s get closer.)

╰ Touch

This is intimacy in all its forms, comforting, protective, romantic, or invasive.

Hugging — Doesn’t always mean closeness. Could be a goodbye. Could be an apology they can’t say out loud. Could be awkward as hell.

Handshake — Stiff or crushing or slippery. How someone shakes hands says more than their words do.

Back patting — Casual warmth. Bro culture. Awkward emotional support when someone doesn’t know how to comfort but wants to try.

Clenched fists — Holding something in. Rage, tears, restraint. Fists mean tension that needs somewhere to go.

Hair tuck — Sure, flirtation or nerves. But also a subtle shield. A way to hide. A habit from childhood when someone didn’t want to be seen.

╰ Mirroring:

If two characters start syncing their body language, something is happening. Empathy. Chemistry. Shared grief. If someone shifts their body when the other does? Take notice. Other human bits that say everything without words...

Nodding — Not just yes. Could be an “I hear you,” even if they don’t agree. Could be the “keep going” nod. Could be patronizing if done too slow.

Crossed legs — Chill. Casual. Or closed-off, depending on context. Especially if their arms are crossed too.

Finger tapping — Time is ticking. Brain is pacing. Something’s coming.

Hand to chest — Sincerity, yes. But also shock. Or grounding—a subconscious attempt to stay present when everything feels like too much.

Tilting the head — Curiosity. Playfulness. Or someone listening so hard they forget to hide it.

Temple rub — “I can’t deal.” Could be physical pain. Could be stress. Could be emotional overload in disguise.

Chin stroking — Your classic “I’m judging you politely.” Often used in arguments between characters pretending to be calm.

Hands behind the back — Authority. Control. Or rigid fear masked as control.

Leaning body — This is the body betraying the brain. A tilt toward someone means they care—even if their words are cold.

Nail biting — Classic anxiety. But also habit. Something learned. Sometimes people bite because that’s how they self-soothe.

Squinting — Focusing. Doubting. Suspicion without confrontation.

Shifting weight — Uncomfortable. Unsure. Someone who wants to leave but doesn’t.

Covering the mouth — Guilt. Hesitation. The “should I say this?” moment before something big drops.

Body language is more honest than dialogue. If you really want to show your character’s internal world, don’t just give them lines. Give them a hand that won’t stop shaking. Give them a foot that won’t stop bouncing. Give them a mouth that smiles when their eyes don’t. And if you’re not sure what your character would do in a moment of fear, or love, or heartbreak, try acting it out yourself. Seriously. Get weird. Feel what your body does. Then write that down.

[windyremedy]

B-B-BOYFRIEND!

pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader

scenario: he wants that cookie so effing bad but reader is oblivious to it all.

clueless.

you were damn clueless about what you were so sure you wanted.

look. bakugou didn’t mean to overhear unlike other times (ehem the sports festival) but you weren’t really being quite about it. often complaining to the other girls about how you’re looking for a boyfriend, how you want someone to be there for you yet no one seems interested.

mina in particular would glance over where he sat, laughing at your obliviousness. pointing out your blindness to the fact that someone IS interested but you waved it off like a fool as if he doesn’t cook your favorite food each time when he’s assigned dinner duty, as if he doesn’t walk by the road so you’re on the safer side, as if he doesn’t let you ramble whatever it is you wanted to talk about listening genuinely and how if it were anyone else he’d walk away without a second thought. yet you can’t see all the lengths he’s going through just to show you how capable he is to fulfill that role.

it’s getting to the point where he thinks you don’t like him specifically because how can you not get it? are you avoiding him by pretending not to know on purpose to lightly let him down?

fuck, he even talked about his situation with his self proclaimed friends and they all told him to just fess up to you but damn it do you make him feel like a fool himself.

“dude why don’t you ask her yourself?” sero genuinely asked, wondering why his strong headed friend who doesn’t hesitate in the face of danger become so suddenly hesitant when it came to you.

“yeah! be a manly man and just do it.” the red headed boy spoke all fired up, patting the unshaken boy on the back whose face never seemed to cease from its frown.

“what? don’t tell me you’re scared kacchan?” kaminari teased and for what’s probably the hundredth time he got blown up by bakugou’s quirk, again, he really never learns his lesson.

so when the end of the year party eventually comes up you find yourself cornered by the explosive boy. dragged firmly away from the crowd of your peers, looking at you with angered brows and an upset pout. you supposed he tried to look indifferent and unaffected but he looked like anything but.

“what’s up bakugou?” you asked smiling up at his sharp expression.

“you’re blind as fuck.”

“what the— not even a hello???” you asked incredulously at his unprompted comment.

“shit. okay wait, let me think. you are unaware of things you should be aware of.”

…blink…..blink...blink

“is this about the homework I totally failed? I told you not to bring it up bakubro—“

“no and don’t call me that!” he shouted, popping a red vein.

“why??!”

“because I don’t want to be your ‘bro’”

“what. you don’t want to be friends anymore?” you wobbly asked, eyes watering like that one emoji you always fucking send him. for instance,

messages

you: can you help me prepare for the test plz

katkat: where

you: wait actually I just remembered you and kiri were gonna study together

katkat: we’re not

you: I heard you two plan it after class?

katkat: he planned it

you: can you ask kiri if I could join then 🥹

katkat: no because I’m coming to your room, get your shit ready.

you: so no kirishima? (➤)

you: so (➤)

you: kk pal!

katkat: don’t call me that.

messages

katkat: mina saw you.

katkat: said you looked upset or something.

you: no I’m fine!!!

you: totally not crying over being stood up or whatever. 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

katkat: that business class hataro shitsuko was a loser anyway.

you: it’s shizuku lol

katkat: just come over.

you: wait how did you know who (➤)

you: wait (➤)

you: wa (➤)

you: okay bae

messages

katkat <3: I’m not getting you that mochi

you: please I want you

katkat <3: what?

you: to get it for me PLEASSSEEEE 🥹 🥹

katkat <3: …

katkat <3: fine.

you: yayyyyyyyy

you: I want a specific flavor though.

katkat <3: I know what it is dumbass, I’ll see you later.

you: can you look for (➤)

you: THANK YOU!!

and many more but none of that ever clicked in your mind and so here you two were.

“no I want to be more than that.” he spoke seriously, red eyes set firmly on yours.

“don’t tell me….” you looked to the side shedding a tear as you leaned behind the wall further.

finally you understood.

“you want to be best fri—“

“FUCK NO! WE’RE NOT DOING THAT SHIT SO I’M JUST GONNA SAY IT.” he exasperatedly yelled, grabbing both your shoulders. breathing in once and out he spoke loud and clear, the feelings he held close and dear.

“I WANT YOU, YOU DAMN IDIOT! LET ME BE YOUR BOYFRIEND!!!”

“what?” you stared at him all startled and wide eyed as your mouth pulled downwards and eyes squinted to tears as you began to cry.

“what the— why are you crying!? do you hate me that bad?” bakugou asked hiding his hurt by wiping your tears away with his thumb as he gently held your face.

“no I want you too!!!! I just never thought you felt that way about me.” you whined planting your face in his chest.

“yeah no shit.”

“what?” you asked, slightly pulling away.

“nothing.” he answered shoving your face back in his body with one hand, relived that you actually felt the same way all this time.

inspo: “don't be scared to come put your trust in me can't you see all I really want to be is your boyfriend.” — Big Time Rush

©windyremedy

[mggslover]

TIED TOGETHER — aaron hotchner

In which you find a creative way to show Aaron the new tie that you had ordered for him.

genre smut (18+) cw perv!hotch, established relationship, sexting, sending of explicit content, male masturbation, slight exhibitionism, sexual tie references (the clothing item) wc 1,4k a/n quick lil drabble in between my studying sessions

Aaron Hotchner is absolutely and utterly infatuated with you. He seems like a gruff, stoic leader but turns into putty whenever he’s around you. He often excuses himself in meetings or walks up to an empty hallway in the location the team is visiting when you send him a text or give him a call. The team always suspects it’s business, but no, it’s you. And when it comes to you, he will always pick up, no matter the time or place. 

Most of the time it isn’t an emergency. And most of the time it isn’t objectively necessary to swipe his finger to the right, opening the call. But he can’t help himself. Not when he knows it’s you on the other side of the line. Sweet you who’s calling him as you take your evening walk, sweet you who wants to put him on speaker as you drive to work, sweet you who needs to listen to his voice as he bids you goodnight. 

But sweet isn’t the only thing that you are. And there is no one like Aaron who knows how naughty you can be.

So the next events shouldn’t have surprised him.

“Your ties have arrived,” your voice sounds through the speaker. He can picture the way you’re balancing your phone between your ear and shoulder, a box full of ties in your hands as you make your way to your bedroom.

“I faked your signature if that’s alright.”

He chuckled at that.

“That’s alright, thank you. You can leave them on the bed; I’ll be home tonight.”

An excited squeal followed, “Thank God, it’s been too long.”

He agreed with your statement, then asked you how you were, but you didn’t answer. Instead he heard some faint shuffling in the background. 

“What are you doing?”

“Putting on this tie, the silk navy one,” you answered.

A memory flashed through his mind: how he was lying down on the couch, your figure seated between his legs, head resting on his chest as you had his laptop placed on top of your lap. You were looking through several websites, finding new ties to order. Your eye had immediately landed on a silk navy one, tracing the fabric with your finger over the screen.

“You know what else this tie will be perfect for?” You had purred to him, resulting in him groaning as he hid his face in the crook of your neck, showering you in kisses and bites.

It was a common bedroom activity you like to participate in: using ties. The two of you made a creative team, finding ways to use his ties as handcuffs, as blindfolds, and even as chokers. And what material could be better than soft silk?

“Check your text messages. You can stay on the call,” you instruct him, bringing him back to reality.

Maybe he should’ve thought his next action more through. Maybe he should’ve told you No, I’ll check it when I have the time. When I’m not standing in the corner of a busy police station. But he didn’t. Simply because it was you who asked. 

He exited the call to go to his messages, for a second afraid he had hung up on you, but then he heard your voice again. “Go on.”

To say that you had knocked the breath out of his lungs was an understatement. There, opened on his phone in full screen, was a picture of you. You were standing in front of the mirror, only your upper body showing. Completely bare, besides… his tie.

The navy blue tie decorated your neck, tied perfectly due to the many times you’ve helped him. Aaron looked up for just a second, seeing his colleagues and police busy themselves in chatter, not focused on him. Still, he turned around, shielding himself as he held his phone in a tight grip, like he held the most valuable possession known to man in his hands. 

He swallowed when he took another glance at the picture. Cock swelling as he took in your hardened peaks, the soft curve of your breasts, the way the silk fell down in between them.

“Earth to Aaron,” you spoke after not having heard a sound besides his heavy breathing for the last minute.

“I have to go.”

Call ended.

-`♡´-

Maybe you’ve gone too far. You sit on the edge of your shared bed, letting out a disappointed sigh as you play with the tie around your neck. Worst case scenario he gets home tonight and will punish you. 

The idea sends an excited jolt to your core. But instead, not even a couple of minutes later, you receive a text message from Aaron.

With scrunched eyebrows you open the app, seeing the loading screen of a video. You can vaguely make out some colors: mainly white, and a warm beige color reminiscent of his skin. Then you take in the text that’s attached to it: Had to go to the bathroom while I’m supposed to give a profile in five. Don’t do that again.

Before you could question his message further, the video pops up in HD, fully loaded. You click on the play button.

The white turned out to be a toilet, making sense with his bathroom text. The beige turns out to be his hand, and as the video starts playing, you connect the dots.

Aaron groans, palming the obvious bulge in his pants that’s visible now that he’s adjusted the camera. Your heart stammers as he unzips himself, hands so skilled that holding his phone in the other hand doesn’t slow him down. His slacks fall to his knees, and his thick cock jumps up with a slap against his button-up.

Your throat turns dry as he grips himself in his fist, wrist flicking in slow circles as he moves his hand up and down his length. It felt so intimate to see. He didn’t speak to you, needing to be quiet. He didn’t acknowledge that the video was for you, even though you knew it was. It truly felt like catching him in a private moment of pleasure.

Precum spilled out of his length, and he caught all of it with his thumb, coating the slick around the head in the same way he usually covered your lips before pressing the rest of his thumb into your mouth. You moaned at the sight, and it seemed like Aaron had the same mental image in mind, groaning as he fisted himself harder. 

You held in your breath and turned the volume of your phone up to the max, wanting to catch every sigh and whimper that escaped his lips. He fucked his hand; wet sounds of his fist making contact with his stomach filled the room. He couldn’t lessen those sounds, not if he wanted to keep up this pace, and by the way his breathing was getting heavier, he did not want to slow down.

“Honey,” he groaned, and your cheeks heated. He was thinking of you. 

His hand moved faster, at a speed you weren’t sure you could recreate: up and down, up and down. You’re wondering what he’s picturing, if he’s imagining you on your knees in front of him, tits on display like they were in the picture, tie around your neck as you’re sticking your tongue out, begging for his release.

He moaned your name, and again, and again, until his cock twitched. White, hot ropes of his release spilling out. Some of the droplets are falling into the toilet, like he had intended, but having built up his release for days not being with you and not having had the time to get himself off, he’s adorning his hand, the seat, and even the floor. 

“Shit,” he mutters, catching up after his mind is getting clear.

Then the video ends.

Thanks for the show. Don’t forget to ask Reid for some cleaning wipes ;) You text him, stifling a giggle, enjoying getting a reaction out of him. 

The video replayed in your mind, and you bit your lip. Your legs were crossed, subconsciously trying to alleviate some of the building pressure, not able to wait to get off to that video later on.

Like the devil had heard you, you received a text back.

Funny. Don’t forget that you’re not allowed to touch yourself until I’m home ;)

[gisezella]

HEADCANON .ᐟ

ᡣ𐭩 content — 𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗇 / 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍-𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗇. 𝗅𝖾𝗏𝗂 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖾𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾.

He doesn’t really know when it started, but he remembers when something shifted. It was just another evening, and you walked in without knocking, your hands covered in dirt, a distracted smile on your lips. Nothing special happened. You simply existed… and for some reason, that was enough to make him want to wake up the next day.

He doesn’t believe in forever, but he believes in consistency. Levi won’t promise you he’ll always be there. Not because he doesn’t want to — but because he knows too well what it means to lose. So instead, he stays. He’s there, steady, bandaging your wounds with trembling hands, offering you his silence like it’s a private language only you understand.

He watches more than he speaks. Sometimes he seems distant, like his mind is somewhere else, but in truth, he’s memorizing every detail of you — the way your brow furrows when you think, the exact sound of your laugh, the way your fingers tremble just before you cry. He knows you by heart, even if he never says it out loud.

He hates seeing you hurt, but he can’t shelter you. It’s a war inside him. Part of him wants to lock you away where nothing can touch you. But he respects your strength too much. So he trains with you, corrects you harshly, and then lies awake at night staring at the ceiling, praying you’ll never have to use what you’ve learned.

He doesn’t understand why you love him. Every time you say something kind, a part of him recoils, bracing for the moment you finally realize he’s broken. And yet, every time you look at him with unshaken, quiet affection… that hollow part of him feels a little less empty.

He’s awkward with affection, but never indifferent. He’s not one for public displays or romantic speeches. But he makes your tea the exact way you like it. He adjusts your cloak before a mission. And when no one’s watching, he brushes your cheek with his knuckles, like that small touch could shield you from the world.

He has nightmares, and he rarely lets you see it. But on the nights he can’t hide it — when his hands shake and his eyes are clouded — he doesn’t push you away. He lets you hold him, stiff at first, until his breathing matches yours. You're the only one who can calm the chaos in his chest.

He thinks his love is a curse. Everyone he’s ever cared about is gone. So he loves you with fear, with guilt, with the constant dread that one day, you’ll be next. And yet, he clings to you. Because if the world is hell, you’re the only reason he keeps walking through it.

He admires you quietly. He’ll never say it out loud, but the way you face your fears — flawed and human — commands a deep respect in him. He doesn’t need perfection. He’s touched by your persistence. By the way you still try.

His love has its own language. He won’t say “I love you” often, but he shows it. He takes longer routes just to walk beside you. He remembers what you hate eating. He listens — to every word — even if he doesn’t always reply. And when you’re in danger, the calm cracks. He doesn’t stay still.

His jealousy is silent and self-inflicted. He won’t forbid you from seeing anyone or lash out. But if someone else makes you laugh, if your eyes light up for reasons that aren’t him, his gaze hardens. He’ll retreat for a few days, quiet and withdrawn, trying to remind himself you’re not his — and that terrifies him.

You make him laugh. Not often, and rarely in public. But there are rare, precious moments where he lets out a dry, genuine laugh. And when he does, he looks away quickly, like he’s just exposed a vulnerability. He doesn’t know how you do it — but you do.

Cleaning is his coping mechanism, but you are his home. When the world gets too loud, he scrubs it away. But when he’s with you — when he hears your voice, feels your hand in his — the urge to run quiets down. For the first time, he begins to understand what it means to stay.

He’ll always worry about you. You can tell him you’re fine, that it’s just a scratch. But his eyes will search your body for the truth. He can’t help it. To love, for Levi, is to carry the weight of your safety like a blade drawn at all times.

Intimacy isn’t just physical — it’s surrender. When he lets you in, it’s not about lust. It’s about vulnerability. He kisses you like he doesn’t deserve it. He touches you with reverence, like every brush of skin is a silent prayer to something he doesn’t believe in — but hopes, just this once, might answer.

Sometimes, he pulls away without explanation. Not because he’s stopped loving you, but because he needs to remember who he was before you, to not lose himself completely. But even in his silence, he thinks of you — your voice, your touch, your presence. He always comes back… even if he doesn’t always know how to say sorry.

He sees you as his equal. There’s no pedestal. No illusion. When he fights beside you, he trusts you like any other comrade — but his heart beats faster. Not out of doubt… but because you mean more than the others ever could.

He struggles with words, but tries for you. The first few times he tried to say “I love you,” the words got stuck in his throat. But one night, with his head in your lap, it slipped out — quiet, raw, unguarded. You understood it anyway. Because with Levi, those words are louder than a scream.

Sometimes, he dreams of a life he knows he’ll never have. A tiny house. A quiet garden. You reading while he cooks, badly. It’s not realistic — he knows. But when you’re asleep next to him, safe and warm, he lets himself pretend, just for a moment, that peace is possible.

If he dies, you’re the last thing he wants to see. Not his squad. Not the past. Just you. Because in the blood and the loss, you were the one beautiful thing he ever truly had. And somehow, against all odds, Levi Ackerman loved. And was loved.

[fairestwriting]

Hii! I love your writing! Not sure if you did this yet, but could I get headcanons of what Leona, Jamil, Vil, and Lilia would call their s/o? (Other than herbivore on Leona’s part) Thank you so much <3

THANK YOU!!! this is a little (just a little) different from the way i usually write hcs but i hope you like ittt

𐙚 Leona Kingscholar

Leona didn’t really intend for it to be his personal nickname for you or anything, but yeah, Herbivore does stick — at least for a while — and yeah, he’ll still use it even if you’re also a beastperson, regardless of what you truly are. He actually thinks it’s extra funny to use it if it doesn’t suit you.

The nicknaming is going to evolve with time, though. He does like using the occasional baby or babe, just casually, and probably not in public, but it won’t be the main thing he’ll call you. His preference very much is in giving you a specific, fitting nickname. Something no one else could call you, at least not in the way he does.

Since he’s started out with Herbivore, he’s most likely to keep following that animal theming route. It feels right, anyway. He’ll think about it, going through many, many working titles until he finds something that feels perfectly customized. It’s a significant amount of time until he just springs your brand new nickname on you, grinning all proud of himself... And after that day, that’s basically your second name.

𐙚 Jamil Viper

Jamil likes using your first name, and he’ll mostly stick to that. When you’re around others, it’s basically a given that he won’t be calling you darling or sweetheart or anything like that, since he prefers to keep your relationship away from the prying eyes of strangers. PDA is just not his thing, and it will never really be.

Part of why he sticks with using just your even in private is just the comforting familiar feel of it, but he also does genuinely love your name. If you listen closely, you’ll notice that the way he says it now is just a little different from how he said it before you got together…

On the rare occasion he calls you something other than your name, you can pretty much be sure it’s always going to come after a ”my”. Something like my love or my dear, which, fittingly, is more likely to slip out when he’s feeling more possessive than usual. But it’s pretty much reserved for that, plus whenever he’s comforting you for any somewhat serious reason. If you ask him to say it more often, he gets all flustered.

𐙚 Vil Schoenheit

Like Jamil, he also really enjoys using just your first name, said in this way that’s just slightly softer than how he says everyone else’s names. What distinguishes them is that Vil does that intentionally, in this specific way that’s clear enough for you to maybe pick up on, but not everyone else.

He really does like using petnames in private though. Vil is a little hesitant at first, because he’s definitely said the words before in some production he acted in. He didn’t think much of it then, they were just words for him— But now that he’s doing it for real, he can’t help but notice just how different it feels. He knew it would feel different, he just wasn’t expecting it to feel that intimate…

In these moments, he finds himself being particularly fond of the more domestic-sounding kind. Honey is a common one, darling is used but a bit less so, it’s mostly for when he’s feeling particularly affectionate. Silently expects you to return the gesture, but it still makes him blush a little whenever you do.

𐙚 Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia brings out the petnames pretty early on. Just around the time when he realizes his interest in you, which comes with the decision that now, his flirting is going to be intentional. The first one he uses will probably be something simple, easy to sprinkle into his usual speech, like dear.

He kind of likes the more “ambiguous” sounding names— That kind of stuff you might hear from the nice old lady who lives down your street. Hun and sweetie are other two favorites of his. Needless to say, he not only keeps it up even after you two start dating, but also specifically focuses on using whatever gets him the biggest reactions from you.

Despite having clear favorites, though, his approach to petnames is almost like he’s going down a list. One day you’re love, then the next you’re sweetheart. He likes to switch it up, see how you like different names, how you react to them. Very much encourages you to return the gesture, and if you do, he’ll copy whatever petname you call him, so you two match.

if you like my work you can support me by commissioning me or tipping me on ko-fi ── ᵎᵎ ✦

[twistedteatime]

Care

A/N: I feel like crap today. I'm better now than I was earlier. I wanted some period care with Bucky and decided to write it myself. I've got other fics to write, but this is the one that came of today. It's not in the Scorpio AU. It's just a standalone.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x !femReader

POV: 2nd no use of Y/N.

Summary: Bucky comes home and finds you in a state of pain because of your period and takes care of you.

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Strangely enough I don't think there's any LANGUAGE to warn about for once. Fluff. Care. Talk of heavy period pain symptoms (because I'm not in the tribe of periods being unmentionable). Bucky and Alpine being cute. I can't think of anything else. (I'm sure there's more but I can't remember)

My Masterlist

Drabble List

*******

You were still home when Bucky walked into the house. His brows scrunched together as his blue eyes looked at you as you shuffled back through the doorway from the bathroom, Alpine following you with a worried meow.

Concern bubbled in his stomach at the sight of your pale face and tired, heavy-lidded eyes, sweat soaking through one of his T shirts you were wearing. Then you looked at him as he was looking at the pulled-out drawers, tears pooling in your eyes as he stepped in with a gentle sigh and locked the door as he always did.

He knew what this was. He hated it, but not for most reasons men hated it. Bucky hated what it did to you.

Not every month, but too often for his liking your period put you in a state like this. The last couple of months had been alright, but not this one.

You sniffled, “I can’t find the heating pad anywhere. I’m so hot, though. I’ve already changed my clothes twice. I’m hungry but the thought of food makes me wanna puke. I did puke. It feels like my uterus wants to implode. My head hurts…and I’m so tired!”

You were overwhelmed. It wasn’t the first time.

Pain radiated in your lower back, your lower abdomen felt like it was a hand mercilessly squeezing a tube, your thighs ached and you could feel the start of a migraine coming that was almost guaranteed if you started crying. If you cried you were done for but you were so tired it hurt to hold it together.

He didn’t hesitate another moment.

“Shh…I’m home now, sweetheart. It’s gonna be alright.” Bucky soothed, walking quickly over to you to scoop you up in his arms to carry you to the couch, “The heating pad is in the closet. I’ll go get it. Does it help to sit or help to walk?”

“Sit.”

“Okay. Don’t move. I’ve got you, okay?” he asked and you nodded, wiping your eyes, smiling a bit when he kissed your forehead.

You’d been worried when you first moved in together that he didn’t understand what you meant when you said your periods could get bad. It worried you how he’d react to them and how long it’d take before he got annoyed with them. The first time he saw what happened in its full “glory” Bucky had been intensely worried but had also sprung himself into action to do everything he could to alleviate it.

He had even asked Sarah for help and followed her advice to the letter. Including trying to get you to go to the doctor. You found it ironic with how much he hated going to them himself that he was willingly taking you to one.

The experience didn’t improve his opinion on them. Not that you didn’t warn him what would happen. You’d been through it enough.

Just take Tylenol, Advil, Aleve, Pamprin, Midol, etc. Eye rolls. Ignored.

You were used to it. Bucky didn’t give up. He kept trying and whenever you had a bad month he was always there to take care of you. It helped more than the OTC meds and even though you found a doctor that listened, which you were slightly convinced their fear of your boyfriend played a large factor in, you still had bad months.

In a moment he was there with the large pad, plugging it in and handing you the controls to place it over your front, and he had another one of his shirts. You just raised your arms for him to pull the sweat soaked one off and let him put on the lighter dry one. He put an extra blanket on the couch behind you knowing once the hot flash was over you’d get cold. Bucky didn’t want you to feel cold just in case he wasn’t done before you did.

Next came a large glass of water with a wedge of lemon in it and three different flavors of candy canes or peppermints. He kept them in the house year-round once he figured out that one of them was usually likely to help with your nausea. The next part was the hard part.

“I know you don’t feel good, sweetie, but you really do need to eat. What have you tried?”

“Toast. It didn’t stay down…and I just can’t…think of something that tastes…good.” You answered and he nodded, thinking before carefully suggesting a few things that you usually would eat on days like this until you slowly nodded, “That…that’s not nauseating…”

He nodded and went back into the kitchen, Alpine hot on his tail. Occasionally you’d hear her meow at him and him respond to it. Soft, short, then a bit more accusatory.

“Have you been watching Kitchen Nightmares with her again?”

It made you chuckle sleepily. He brought out your food a few moments later, sitting with you to eat, putting on one of your favorite shows that you knew he secretly liked even if he said he didn’t. Still he mostly kept his eyes on you with soft, caring, and concerned ones.

The food stayed down. You’d love to say it always did when he made it, but sometimes it didn’t want to. You’d love to say the moment he got home that the pain subsided but you both knew that wasn’t how it worked. You’d love to say a lot of things you couldn’t, but you focused on what you could before the heaviness of your thoughts could pull you down too far.

Bucky was a cuddler on regular days but on these ones he took it to the next level whenever you needed it. Sure there were days you didn’t want to be touched, which he respected without question, but those days were far fewer than the ones where you just wanted to be held.

This was one of them and as soon as you were both done with your food and the dishes put away Bucky returned and pulled you into his lap, heating pad and all.

Alpine hopped up into your now vacant seat as she always did, curling herself up where you had been. Like usual she looked at you, then looked at Bucky, and then he nodded. Only then did she either lay her head down or turn it to look at the TV with the two of you.

It depended on what you were watching.

You were still sweating. Bucky noticed this and held out his left hand to you. The metal of it was cool, soothing, and even if it was a strange use for it, in some ways, to him, he was grateful for it. So were you while guiding it where you wanted, usually to your spine which sometimes required you to shift around a bit so he could run his hand up and down it. Sometimes it was just to your face. Sometimes, like today, you just slipped it under his shirt on you and around your side so he’d hold you closer.

He always did and you never failed to doze off, head against his shoulder within the next ten or so minutes. Usually less. Eyelids heavy, head foggy, you’d doze off even if it took you some time.

“Thank you.” You said softly, meekly, and his heart clenched as it always did.

To him it wasn’t something he needed to be thanked for, but, he supposed, he thanked you for things you didn’t think needed thanking for.

So he replied the same way you did, “You don’t need to thank me, but if it makes you feel better, you’re welcome.”

“Hmm.” You hummed, cuddling into him more with a small smile.

“Feelin’ better?”

“Yeah…sleepy…” you answered and he nodded, holding you close, “Sleepy and weird questions. Like: what did women with periods crave before chocolate was a thing?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart, I’m not that old.” He retorted lightly, lips curling up softly when you chuckled heavily, drifting off slowly, “Probly some other sweet thing. Like honey.”

“Mh…why?”

“I don’t know. Energy from the sugar?”

“Then why’d I crave chips?” you asked sleepily.

“They’re carbohydrates. Carbs are energy.”

“Then why’m I so sleepy?” you mumbled and he just cuddled you with a small smile.

“Hormones and other things. Get some sleep, baby, I’ve got you.” Bucky said and you smiled while dozing off, knowing you were safe and cared for.

Once he was sure you were asleep, and that Alpine wasn’t watching it, he turned your show off to put something else on. Something he knew you liked even if you teased him for it being old and kind of corny. He wasn’t really watching it; he was typing into his phone.

To your doctor.

*******

A/N: Someone might be in trouble. Slight, teensy weensy itty bitty kinda sorta soft dark Bucky. Maybe. Bascially this is what I'd want from Bucky today for myself so...call it self indulgent. It helped. I feel better now. Sort of. Enough to function on my other fics.

My Masterlist

Drabble List

[ghostlyinsight]

Expanding Worlds

Azriel X Y/N

Uhm hi :) I have never written such a thing and it’s FILTH, FORGIVE ME.

Minors do not interact

NSFW

Begging everyone to be kind, ITS MY FIRST SMUT PLS

I wasn’t quite sure how to start it all out, all I knew is there was an idea in my mind that needed to be OUTOFIT. Reader is Made. She’s a proper lady, idk idk.

Trigger Warnings, none really I guess?

Soft Dom Az? A smidge of shadows, innocent reader? They get nashty, that’s all I know for certain. I hope you enjoy <3

-

I should not have listened to Nesta. She insisted my regular reading material was far too tame and now I am stuck in the library of the House, on my third filthy novel she had recommended to me. There’s a burning ache between my thighs and I fear I’m addicted. She has permanently damaged my brain and I am a disturbed heathen just like her, now. Lucky girl has a mate to satiate the urges these books draw out of you, though. I have nothing but my right hand. How can I be expected to satiate these urges with only my fingers? She’s wounded me with nothing more than a cackle when she left me here to “expand my world”.

I can’t help but chew on my lower lip as my thighs rub together on their own accord, desperate for some sort of friction and release to this infernal ache. I close the book and make my exit down the hall to my chambers. Closing the door behind me, I cross the room and sink down on to my fluffy sheets. Every caress on my skin has my nerves firing off, the pulse between my thighs growing with anticipation. Gods, I can’t believe I’m doing this. All because of these damned books. I run my hand slowly and sensually down the front of my silk gown, down to the apex of my thighs. I slip my hand in to my under garments and gather up the flood of wetness, bringing it to my clit and circling it gently. I can’t help the soft whine that escapes my lips. Have I truly neglected my body so thoroughly? I have never taken a lover… and it’s not often I indulge in such scandalous activities. Of course I know of such things, but I had always planned to save my body for my husband. For the other half of my soul. In my current state of desperation, I might be inclined to throw that idea to the wind, though.

I continue the gentle circles on my clit, the tingling pleasure growing swiftly. This won’t take much with how worked up I am. My nipples harden against my gown and I shut my eyes, picturing the scene in my mind that I had just read in the novel. The male had his head buried between her thighs, his tongue pleasuring her. I reach up with my left hand and take my breast in my hand, pinching and tugging my nipple gently. A louder moan escapes my lips as I quicken the pace on the bundle of nerves my fingers are circling.

Just as I begin to give myself in to my fantasy, I hear a soft knock at my door. My eyes shoot open, fingers quickly retreat and I sit up startled. I smooth down my hair, settle my gown and make my way to the door. Upon opening, I find Azriel patiently waiting on the other side.

“Oh! Hello, Azriel. What can I do for you?” I say, realizing how flushed and out of breath I am. I do my best to keep my composure.

“Good evening, Y/N. I was wondering if you’d like to-“ he stops suddenly mid sentence as I see his nose twitch. Oh gods. He can smell it, can’t he? I remember the conversation I had with Nesta and Feyre when I was first Made. They warned me that the senses of the Fae were heightened and they could often scent many things that we couldn’t as humans. Arousal included. My face heats quickly at the memory and I’m positive the panic on my face is visible. I am so embarrassed.

I glance around everywhere but Azriel’s eyes for a moment before settling on his face. I clear my throat, “go on?” I urge, hoping he chooses to ignore this whole debacle. It’s then that I notice the shift in his features. His eyes are darker… his expression as a whole somehow seems sinister in a way I can’t quite describe.

Finally he speaks, “Can I come in?”

His voice is dripping with a certain grit that I’ve never heard from him before. He is always the perfect gentleman, his composure never faltering, ever polite and kind.

Before I can respond, he’s suddenly walking in to my room, backing me up as he goes. I hear the door shut behind him but all I can really make out is him as his shadows seem to swarm to life around him. He stops in the center of the room, less than a foot away from me. I crane my neck to look up in to his eyes, my breath catching.

“I can help you. Would you like me to help you?” An animalistic expression has taken over his features. My breath quickens as I realize there could be nothing else he’s offering to assist me with. My thoughts are a storm within my mind, unsure how to respond. The ache between my thighs seems to have reignited at his words but I’m torn. It’s no secret that Azriel is probably the most handsome male to walk this world. I’d be lying if I said I had never thought of him in that way… he’s often a permanent figure in my less than ladylike dreams. But for this to be real? Gods… damn the waiting. Azriel has always been so good, so kind. He would be a perfectly acceptable person to always share this memory with.

Having come to my conclusion, I try my hardest to settle my nerves. “Yes..” I finally respond in a breathless whisper. In an instant, his lips crash down on mine, a growl ripping through his throat. Suddenly his hands are all over me, in my hair, on my hips, pulling me in to him. A whimper leaves my throat as I bring my hands up to tangle in his hair. He makes quick strides to the bed, never parting our lips. Shadows, much stronger than what I would have originally thought, suddenly yank me down on to the bed as Azriel strips his shirt off.

Standing before me is some sort of dark, winged god. His body is truly like a sculpture beyond what the hands of any great artist could ever craft. The gentleman in Azriel has quickly been replaced by a creature driven only by what seems to be desire and instinct. He leans down and begins to make his way up the bed, crawling up my body and never breaking eye contact.

“Part those pretty thighs for me, lovely.” His soft instruction a steep contrast from the gravel in his voice. My heart races, “I feel I should warn you… I have never done this before.” I say. Azriel’s eyes flutter as a groan leaves his parted lips. “Fuck… I can have you though, right? You’ll let me take care of you?” Oh gods, he’s nearly pleading and I am absolutely done for. “Yes, yes you can have me..” I respond, panting and honestly nearly drooling at how sexy he sounds right now. What can only be described as a sadistic grin spreads across his lips. “You’re such a good girl.” He says before connecting his lips to mine once more. He reaches down between us and slowly draws my thighs apart before pulling my panties to the side and dipping a finger in to the silky wetness. He moans in to my lips and I grip his shoulders at the sensation of having fingers other than my own exploring my most intimate parts. He brings the wetness up to my clit and begins a slow, torturous pace, circling and gently increasing pressure.

“Is this what you were doing in here, pretty girl? Hm? What’s got you so worked up that I had to come in here and take care of you like this, baby?” He dips his head down to my neck, licking and kissing teasingly. “I… I read a book…” I whimper out as best I can. “A book? That’s all it took, sweet girl? Fuck, I can do better than a book.” He says with a nip to my neck.

He sits up on his knees then and grips my hips, pulling me down so my thighs are on either side of him. My thin gown has ridden up, exposing my light blue underwear to him. “Can I undress you, baby? I want to see all of you… I just want to make you feel good.” He asks so sweetly, I couldn’t say no to him if I wanted to. My eyes shut and my head lulls to the side. “Yes, whatever you want, Az. Please.” As soon as he’s given permission, I feel the cool tendrils of his shadows tracing up my sides, bringing my gown up with them. I lift enough for the gown to come off and the harsh air meets my breasts. Not for long though, because the same shadows come to caress them. “You’ll let them play too, won’t you?” He asks again and all I can do is nod. My chest is rising and falling rapidly and I don’t think I have ever been so aroused in my life. I feel Azriel’s hands reach my underwear and they’re discarded quickly. “Look at you,” he finally groans out. “Absolutely soaked.” He shimmies down, bringing his lips to each of my thighs.

“Can I tell you something, baby?” He asks, and I croak out a barely audible “what is it?” In response. “I think I’m going to keep you.” He says just before licking a long strip up my wetness. A gasp leaves my throat and my hand quickly tangles in his hair, the other gripping the bed sheet. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to taste you. Do you know how many nights you’ve had me fisting my cock? How many times I’ve almost knocked on that door and got on my gods damned knees for you? I could beg. I don’t beg but I would have for a taste of you.” Another lick up my pussy. “I was knocking on that door tonight to ask you out to dinner. Was gonna take you out, treat you so nice baby, then I was gonna take you home and have you for dessert.” His words are clouding my mind, eating up my senses. He takes my clit between his lips and sucks. “Imagine my surprise to find you in the state I did. Already so fucking needy… fuck, baby…” and then he unleashes himself upon me. Licking, sucking, moaning against me. I’m reduced to nothing but a puddle beneath him, unable to form coherent sentences. My hips buck against his face, chasing the pleasure he’s giving me. I didn’t know I could feel like this, didn’t know he felt for me the way he described… gods I would have said yes to dinner, I would have said yes to anything, everything. Pressure quickly begins to build in my abdomen. “Oh gods…. Azriel… I..” I can’t even finish my words before the pressure finally reaches its peak, snapping and shattering, filling my whole body with warmth and tingles. I’m barely aware of the flood of wetness leaving my pussy as it aches and clenches around nothing. Never in all my attempts to pleasure myself has it ever felt like this… never so complete and all consuming. As the waves of euphoria slowly subside, I glance down at Azriel, finding him between my legs with that same sinister grin. The lower half of his face as well as his chest are glistening. “You made a mess, pretty girl. And I’m not even done with you yet.” He says as he moves to his feet and begins unbuckling his belt.

I can’t help but wonder what I’ve gotten myself in to but I’m far too enthused to stop. Azriel removes his belt and his pants fall to the ground. Next are his undergarments. The shock must be evident on my face as I take in the size of him. I have nothing to compare with but I just know he is large. Very large. “Don’t be scared, baby. I’ll make sure it fits.” He says with a smirk as he climbs back on to the bed and settles against the headboard.

“Come here, lovely.” He instructs and I make my way to straddle his lap on my shaky legs. I glance down at his erection between us and bite my lower lip. “Can I… can I touch you?” I ask, and he chuckles before pecking my lips. “Explore.” He offers. I circle my hand around the tip of him, feeling the soft skin. I experimentally move my hand up and down his shaft, looking to his face to see his reaction. His pupils are blown, and he’s entirely focused on my hand wrapped around him. “Is this okay? Do you like it?” I ask nervously. “It’s good, baby. Go slow. I don’t want to cum until I’m in your perfect little pussy.” His head hits the headboard behind him as he starts to pant softly. “Can I taste it?” I ask as I start sliding down his thighs to bring my face to his cock. “Fuck…” he hisses out. “Yes… just for a minute and then I have to be inside of you.” I giggle a little at his words, proud of how he’s reacting to my touch, at how badly he wants me. I bring my lips down to him and place a soft kiss on the tip.

He brings his hand to my hair, tangling in the strands. “Open.” He instructs as he taps my cheek with his other hand. I open my mouth and let him lower my mouth on to him. I close my lips around him and circle the tip with my tongue. I can taste the drops that have gathered at the top and moan softly at the taste of him. “You’re such a good girl, I knew you would be. Always so proper and polite. Always doing as you’re told. And now you’ve got your perfect lips wrapped around my cock. Suck, baby.” He instructs and I instantly do it. He hisses and begins guiding my head up and down on him, showing me the pace he likes. I glance up at him to see his reaction, his eyes are hooded and his lips are parted. He lets out a low groan before pulling me off of him gently and guiding me to his lips. I wrap my arms around his neck, pushing my breasts against him. My lips part, allowing room for his tongue to brush against mine. I can taste myself on his tongue and the thought has my walls clenching around nothing all over again. He leans down, taking one of my nipples between his teeth, gently sucking and pulling. My back arches and I gasp at the sensation. My hips begin to rock by their own accord, grinding against his hardness. He shifts, allowing his cock to glide through my folds as my hips grind against him. His hands find my ass, gripping and urging my hips to glide faster against him.

“Look at you… you could cum just like this, couldn’t you? Just from rubbing that desperate little cunt along my cock.” He finishes his statement with a sharp smack to my rear end. I moan out at the sensation, surprise taking over my features. I didn’t know I would enjoy something like that… but I enjoy all of this. Everything Azriel is giving me, I’m eager to take. Putty in his skilled hands, his for the taking. “Azriel…” I mewl out. “What, baby? What do you need?” He responds, still urging me up and down his length. The way his cock is sliding along my swollen clit is sinful. You can hear the sloppy wetness with every surge forward. “I want it, Az… I want your cock inside me… please? Can I please have it?” I begin to meekly beg, desperate for the stretch I’ve never felt before. I need him to claim me. “Gods, baby, you beg so pretty. Of course you can. You’ve been so fucking good for me, taking everything like such a sweet girl. My good girl, yeah? Tell me you’re my good girl and I’ll let you have it right now, baby.” He says, bucking his hips up in to mine. “I’m your good girl, Azzie… all yours.” I pant out.

Azriel quickly lifts my hips and lines the tip up with my tight entrance. “This is going to hurt the first time, lovely. I’ll be careful and we’ll go slow, okay baby?” I nod my head in response, just ready to finally be filled by him. He slowly lowers me down on to him and I feel the burning stretch begin to take over. I whimper softly and cling on to him tightly. “Would you like me to stop? Is this okay?” He says, searching for any doubt on my face. There he is, the usual ever polite and kind Azriel. “It’s okay, Az… feels good, just stings a little…” I respond reassuringly. He smiles at me and plants a sweet kiss on my lips before slipping in another inch.

Slowly but surely, I eventually find myself fully seated on his cock, panting and desperate to rock my hips against it. “Az… it feels so good… please…” I beg softly, not quite sure what to do next. “Shhh baby, I have you. Let me guide you, okay? You feel so good wrapped around me. So fucking tight and wet.” He says as he begins to rock my hips back and forth. The stretch and burn is still present but is drowned out by the pleasure of being so full. My pussy throbs around him, gripping him like a vice and refusing to let go. I rest my hands on his chest and experimentally lift my hips, dropping down softly. We both moan in sync, and his grip on my hips tighten. “Fuck, just like that baby. Take your time, take everything you need from me. It’s all yours.” He says, giving some control to me to explore my own pleasure.

I lift again, and slide down slowly on him once more. A few more tries and I manage to establish a rhythm that has us both panting and whimpering. His hands find my breasts, palming them and rubbing my nipples between his fingers. At this angle, my clit is rubbing perfectly against him, stimulating every nerve ending. His cock fits so deep, hitting every nook and cranny inside of me. I arch my back, speeding up as I feel the pressure building inside me again.

Azriel suddenly shifts and my back hits the plush mattress, his cock never exiting as we move. My thighs instinctually wrap around his waist, drawing him deeper inside. A yelp escapes me at the new angle, at the way his cock somehow reaches further, finding places within me that only he can sate. He leans down, pressing our lips together, our tongues tangling as he pulls nearly all the way out before plunging in once more. Over and over. His sensual assault to my lips and his cock buried inside me to the hilt is enough to have me feeling as if I’ve indulged in an entire bottle of Rhys’s rarest wine. My vision darkens and my mind is all consumed with Azriel. His lips, his words, his cock, his eyes, his heart. All him. I hear a chuckle escape him above me. “All fucked out, princess? Drunk on it?” He mocks.

All I can manage is more whimpers and incoherent pleas for more. He reaches down, gripping one of my calves and brings it up to rest on his shoulder. He speeds up, his fingers coming to meet my clit, making tight quick circles on it. “Azriel… I want to cum, please…” I beg, tears brimming in my eyes. “Whenever you’re ready, baby. Let me feel that tight little pussy cum around my cock. It’s the only one it’s ever going to cum for, isn’t it? All mine?” A high pitched whine escapes me. “Yes! Yes, Azzie, just yours, always. Promise. I’m all yours..” I nearly shout, the pressure fast approaching its peak. He grins, kissing my calve that’s resting on his shoulder. My toes curl as his assault on my clit quickens and suddenly the coil snaps.

My pussy clenches down on him, pulsing as my orgasm bursts out of me. I can hear my own distant moans and whimpers of his name, followed by his groans as he thrusts harder in to me. My pussy continues to pulse around his cock and suddenly warmth blooms within it as I feel him coat my walls with his seed. “Fuck baby, you’re so beautiful. So fucking sexy when you cum, I can hardly stand it.” He says as he slows his pace. He brings his hand up to move the sweaty strands of hair out of my face and wipe the tears from my eyelids. I hadn’t even realized I was shedding them, the pleasure far too immense to take note of much else.

The throbbing of us both begins to settle and he unsheathes himself from inside me. He lay next to me before bringing his fingers down and dipping them in our mixed juices. He thoroughly coats them before bringing them to my lips. “Taste.” He demands. I part my lips, and suck his fingers in to my mouth. He hums softly as I moan around his fingers. “Such a perfect girl for me. You did so good, baby. Let me get you cleaned up, okay?” I nod as he stands from the bed, retrieving a wet cloth from the bathroom. He returns and gently wipes me off, taking extra care between my thighs so as to avoid any extra soreness. After then cleaning himself off, he joins me in the bed again, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me in close. His large wings wrap around, making a sort of cocoon around us.

He finally speaks as he’s stroking my hair. “Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He asks lovingly. “It was perfect, Azriel. I didn’t know it could feel like that.” He chuckles at my response, pecking my lips. “I’m sorry for coming at you like some sort of animal. I truly did intend to ask you to dinner. I just couldn’t help myself… you just smelt so delicious, I had to have a bite.” He says as he playfully nips my shoulder. I giggle before responding, “I would love to go to dinner with you, by the way.” A sweet smile spreads across his lovely face. “A date, then.” 

[spookysanta]

Relationship Dynamics. (Ongoing)

I wanted to develop a landing page of sorts, to help readers understand the relationships between muses. You'll notice that, across all of my fics, that these traits have kinda taken minds of their own. Of course, if you have any suggestions for future fics, pleeeease send me a message.

Just a note: I'm off work for the next week and a half so... lots to see, lots to write! You'll probably hear from me a lot, and conclusively, be annoyed by my presence.

This is a live document!

💥 Michael & Reader: "The Feral Love Story"

Vibes: Chaotic. Obsessive. Raw.  He’s insatiable for her, and everyone knows it. She’s the one who tries to keep them in check, but the way he loves her — publicly, physically, vocally — makes that damn near impossible.

Core Traits:

Michael is possessive, unfiltered, and always handsy.

She’s equally obsessed but a little more composed… until he breaks her.

Their chemistry is overwhelming — they’re always touching, always teasing, always one wrong look away from sneaking off.

They don’t fight often, but when they do, it’s passionate — full of intense emotion, yelling, make-up sex that levels cities.

Communication Style: Loud. Direct. No real filters.

She checks him when needed, and he actually listens — not because he wants to, but because it’s her.

He’s better with physical affection than words (obviously), but when he speaks, it’s unforgettable.

Sex Life: Absolutely unhinged.

She’s his favorite playground — mascara ruined, stretch marks kissed, skin bitten, spit shared (*ahem* Sinners inspo right here officer), walls and headboards tested.

Very public in how much they adore each other (and how much they can’t behave).

How People Perceive Them:

“They’re obsessed with each other.”

“They’re always sneaking off.”

“I don’t know how she handles him.”

“They probably fuck like rabbits.”

⸻

🔥 Aaron & Reader: "The Controlled Burn"

Vibes: Slow. Intense. Deliberate. He’s quiet and composed until he isn’t. She’s the chaotic one in this pair — flirty, needy, occasionally bratty — and he’s the anchor. Until he unravels. And then he loses his shit.

Core Traits:

Aaron is soft-spoken, deeply protective, and fiercely intentional.

She’s always pushing his buttons — teasing, tempting — because she knows he’s hiding a storm under the surface.

They don’t argue often. But when she tests him, he lets her know exactly where the line is.

Communication Style:

Aaron listens more than he talks, but when he speaks, it lands.

He reads her energy like a second language — always noticing when she’s off, always knowing when to back off and when to push.

She loves to rile him up. He lets her… until he doesn’t.

Sex Life: Calculated chaos.

When he snaps, it’s like flipping a switch — handprints, hickies, bites and bruises.

He’s the type to whisper filth while looking her in the eye with a hand at her throat.

She’s always shocked at how dirty he really is beneath all that composure.

How People Perceive Them:

“He’s so sweet to her.”

“They’re always so in sync.”

“She’s definitely the handful.”

“No way he’s that calm at home.”

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

Hi! I was wondering if you could do a TBB x Fem!Reader +any other clones of your choice, where they keep using pet names in mandoa like cyar'ika, mesh'la, and maybe even riduur?(because they might’ve gotten accidentally married? Love those tropes)

but the reader has no idea what they mean and that they’re pet names or that the batch likes her. Eventually she finds out of course and a bunch of stuttering cute confessions?

Your writing is so amazing and i literally can’t get enough of it! Xx

“Say It Again?”

TBB x Fem!Reader

You had gotten used to the way clones talked — the gruffness, the slang, the camaraderie. But ever since you’d been working more closely with Clone Force 99, you’d noticed something… different.

They used weird words around you. Words you didn’t hear other troopers saying.

Hunter always greeted you with a gentle “Cyar’ika,” accompanied by that intense little half-smile of his.

Wrecker would beam and shout, “Mesh’la! You came!” every time you entered a room — like you were some goddess descending from the stars.

Crosshair, as always, was smug and cool, throwing in a soft “Riduur…” under his breath when he thought you weren’t listening, though you never figured out what it meant. He often smirked when you looked confused, and somehow that made it worse.

Even Tech, who rarely used nicknames at all, had let slip a casual “You’re quite remarkable, mesh’la,” when you helped him debug his datapad. He didn’t look up, but you felt the heat in his voice.

And Echo? Sweet, dependable Echo — he was the least subtle of them all.

“You alright, cyar’ika?”

“You look tired, cyar’ika.”

“Get some rest, cyar’ika.”

You were starting to think “Cyar’ika” meant your actual name.

But something was off. The others never used those words with each other. Only with you.

So, naturally, you asked Rex.

And Rex choked on his caf.

“You—what did Crosshair call you?” he coughed, wiping his chin.

You repeated it: “Rid…uur? I think? I dunno. He said it real low.”

Rex gave you the slowest blink you’d ever seen and then rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Riduur means… spouse. As in… wife. It’s what you call your partner.”

You froze. “What?!”

“And cyar’ika?” he continued, amused. “Sweetheart. Mesh’la is ‘beautiful.’ They’re… Mando’a pet names. Very affectionate.”

The blushing.

The flashbacks.

All those words… those looks… Tech calling you remarkable like it was a scientific fact, Crosshair smirking like he had secrets, Echo’s voice dropping a full octave every time he said cyar’ika…

You marched straight into the Havoc Marauder like a woman on a mission — and promptly forgot how to speak when all five of them looked up at you.

“…You okay, mesh’la?” Hunter asked gently.

You blinked. Your voice cracked. “…You’ve been calling me sweetheart?”

The room went dead silent.

Echo dropped his ration bar.

Wrecker panicked. “Wait—you didn’t know?”

Crosshair chuckled and leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Told you she didn’t know.”

Tech frowned at him. “Statistically, the odds of her knowing were—”

“You called me your wife,” you said, pointing at Crosshair like he’d committed a war crime.

He shrugged. “Didn’t hear you complain.”

You stammered something completely unintelligible, covering your face with both hands, and Wrecker let out the loudest, happiest laugh you’d ever heard. “So… does that mean you like us back?”

You peeked through your fingers. “…Us?”

Hunter stepped forward slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “We all… kinda do. Like you. A lot.”

You were red. Like, fruit-on-Ryloth red. “You’re telling me five elite clones have been flirting with me in another language this whole time?!”

“…Yes,” they all mumbled at once.

Crosshair grinned like he’d won a bet. “So… Riduur?”

“Riduur?” Crosshair repeated, lifting a brow like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t just dropped a romantic thermal detonator right in front of everyone.

You stared at him. At all of them.

Hunter’s quiet guilt. Echo’s embarrassed fidgeting. Wrecker’s hopeful puppy-dog smile. Tech’s analytical interest. And Crosshair’s smug little smirk that you really wanted to slap off his face… or maybe kiss.

You swallowed. “I—I need a second.”

And then promptly turned on your heel and walked right back out of the Marauder.

⸻

You spent the rest of the day spiraling.

Sweetheart. Beautiful. Wife.

They’d been calling you those for weeks. Months, maybe. You were out here thinking it was some fun cultural expression or inside joke you weren’t in on—and it turns out you were the joke. The target. Of five clone commandos’… affection?

It didn’t feel like a joke, though. It felt sincere. Soft. Safe.

And scary.

Because you liked them. All of them. Differently, but genuinely. The thought of them caring about you—of whispering pet names they grew up hearing in the most intimate, personal ways—made your chest ache in a way you didn’t know how to handle.

⸻

The next day, you avoided them.

The next day, they let you.

The third day, Hunter found you in the mess hall, sat beside you without a word, and handed you a steaming mug of caf.

You looked at him.

He didn’t speak right away. Then: “We’re sorry. If we made you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” you blurted out. “I just… didn’t know how to react. I’m still trying to figure it out.”

Hunter nodded, eyes kind. “We can stop. The nicknames, I mean.”

You hesitated. “No. I don’t want you to stop.”

He smiled, just a little. “You sure?”

You nodded. “I think I like them. I just… I want to know what they mean now.”

⸻

So, one by one, the boys showed you.

Wrecker said “mesh’la” every time you helped him carry heavy crates, with a goofy grin that made your stomach flip.

Echo said “cyar’ika” after every quiet conversation, letting the word linger like a promise he wasn’t ready to say aloud yet.

Tech, precise as always, began to offer direct translations.

“You look stunning today, mesh’la—objectively, of course.”

Crosshair didn’t stop with “riduur.” He started calling you “cyar’ika” too—softly, in rare unguarded moments—and he never looked away when he said it. Like he meant it. Like he knew what it was doing to you.

And Hunter? Hunter started saying “ner cyar’ika.” My sweetheart.

⸻

It wasn’t instant.

But slowly, their voices stopped making you flustered—and started making you feel home.

You started saying their names softer. Started touching their arms when you passed. Started blushing less… and smiling more.

And one day, while standing beside Wrecker during maintenance, you reached up on your toes, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “Thanks, cyare.”

He blinked. His whole face lit up like a nova. “You said it back!”

Later, you caught Echo outside the ship. Nervous, swaying slightly on his heels. You pressed your hand into his and whispered, “You can keep calling me cyar’ika, you know.”

He looked down at you with wide eyes. “You really don’t mind?”

You shook your head. “I like it.”

And Tech, when you repeated “mesh’la” with a teasing little lilt, glanced at you and—just this once—forgot what he was doing.

Even Crosshair dropped his toothpick when you looked him dead in the eye and whispered: “You keep calling me your riduur. What does that make you, then?”

He blinked. Once. Then smiled. Really smiled. “Yours.”

⸻

By the time you curled up beside Hunter one quiet night, your head on his shoulder and his hand tracing slow circles on your back, he murmured “ner cyar’ika” and you didn’t freeze or stammer.

You just smiled.

Because now you knew.

And you finally, finally understood that you’d never been the joke.

You’d always been the reason they smiled.

[gen-lecter]

(Not my pic! Here’s the link for this masterpiece: https://x.com/mogtan71/status/1901757075300274391?s=46)

„Father, Forgive me“

Hello, everyone! 💋

This is my very first one-shot — so please be gentle!

I’ve always loved Levi Ackerman’s cold, dominant vibe, his character in general.

To be honest, I’m not usually into this kind of thing, but I was bored and thought… why not try something a little more specific? Something different.

You don’t see a Levi Priest AU every day — especially one that’s this unholy. So here we are.

This story is dark, explicit, and definitely NSFW. It’s got sinful tension, twisted power play, and yeah… some serious blasphemy. If that’s your thing — enjoy. If not, consider yourself warned.

Also, a very sweet “Levi” crew gave me the motivation to actually write and post this.

Go check them out — they’re amazing and deserve all the love! @nilfgaardianleviosa

@hambiichu

Thanks for checking it out — hope you like my little “I-was-bored-and-went-too-far” fantasy.

!Content Warnings!

[18+ NSFW]

• Age Gap

• Religious Themes (Catholic aesthetic, priest x sinner dynamic)

• Blasphemous Content

• Explicit Language & Humiliation

• Spanking (Hand)

• Power Imbalance

• Rough/Dominant Behavior

• Mentions of Masturbation

• Dubious Morality

• Not for the religiously sensitive – you’ve been warned

Summary:

You enter the confessional with a heart full of filth and fantasies you can’t shake.

You call him Father, but there’s nothing holy about what you feel for him — or what he’s about to do to you.

He listens.

He judges.

He punishes.

Part 1/?

Let’s go~

The scent of incense hung heavy in the air, and his white robe brushed against the cold marble floor. It was cool inside, and the sunlight poured in through the tall, sparkling mosaic windows. The dark pews of the church were slowly emptying as people filed out with quiet, rhythmic steps.

He exhaled softly and closed his eyes. He focused on the feeling of being here. On the sharp, smoky scent of the air.

It hadn’t been long since it happened—whatever it was. He could barely remember anything beyond the sensation of floating. It was like his soul had shattered, and for a brief time, he thought he had seen the light of day again. Felt the wind on his skin.

But it wasn’t the same anymore. Nothing was. Not the way he thought. Not the way he felt.

He had lost everything—family, friends, superiors, his old team. It no longer made sense, because he was no longer who he used to be. What he had felt back then had torn the blindfold from his eyes. And now, he understood the world—its meaning and its cruelty—just a little more than before.

Like a wandering soul, he had found his way into the sacred halls of the church. He was now the Father of the community. Preacher of the faithful. Here, in this village, people had found their way back to faith. They sought guidance from him. And it brought him a quiet comfort to show them the way. To hide their sins.

To make them atone.

But if he thought he had truly left behind earthly pleasures—desires, temptations—he had been wrong. So very wrong.

Because there was someone. Someone who made him feel things he hadn’t felt in years. Someone who shook the foundations of his discipline. And it made him furious. That someone like you could just walk in, and disturb his peace.

He would stand before the altar to deliver Mass. And as his eyes wandered over the congregation, more often than not, they landed on you. While the others bowed their heads in reverence, you looked up at him—and ran your tongue slowly across your lips.

But he understood sin. And he wanted to help all sinners. Even you.

The bells rang, deep and solemn, and the people began to form a quiet line to receive the Holy Host. One by one, they stepped forward. He would recite the sacred words, place the wafer on their tongues, and they would retreat with a whispered “Amen.” The ritual had something meditative to it. He performed it like in a trance.

„The Holy Host,” he murmured, voice low and solemn, and another woman stepped aside.

But then, he looked up—and a jolt of something electric shot through him.

It was you.

Standing there with a grin tugging at your lips, your head tilted playfully to one side. You liked the man. There was something about him—something you couldn’t quite name. Even if he was almost twice your age. Even if you knew this was hopeless.

Still, you couldn’t help but play.

He faltered for just a moment. The expression on his usually stoic face shifted—barely, but noticeably. A few dark strands had fallen across his forehead. You were so close now, the next person already waiting behind you.

He seemed to collect himself again, his voice steady as he spoke the words. His fingers reached for one of the tasteless wafers, lifting it with reverence.

You parted your lips just slightly, warmth pooling in your stomach. There was something so deeply intimate about this moment—being fed by someone so much older, so composed, so devastatingly handsome. And yet, this was supposed to be pure. Sacred.

It didn’t feel that way.

As he placed the Host on your tongue, his slender fingers brushed against your flushed lips—already marked by faint little bite marks. And he knew why.

You saw his gaze linger. Just for a second.

And then—you let your tongue flick against his fingers.

It was brief. But it was enough.

He froze. Shocked. Silently stunned by the audacity, the temptation.

„Amen,” you whispered, your eyes locked onto his.

And then you turned without another word, disappearing into the crowd like a shadow.

Levi shook his head. The water was cold, and it splashed quietly as he washed his hands. He knew it was a sin. God, how could you defile something as pure as this ritual with thoughts like those?

Yet, as his fingers moved through the water, the image forced its way back into his mind.

His fingertips—resting against your lips.

The way he had possessed you in that fleeting moment made his chest tighten. He exhaled sharply, almost a growl, and shook his head again. He scrubbed his hands more harshly, as if the water could cleanse not just the skin but the thoughts buried underneath.

When he was done, he dragged his still-wet hands over his face, up to his temples, pressing them over his head.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He had seen war, pain, death. He had buried comrades, taken lives. And yet this—you—this was what broke his composure?

-

You walked through the day as it slowly bowed into dusk. The sun moved hand in hand with the moon, and the heavy scent of an approaching summer storm hung in the air.

You took a deep breath. Eyes lifting to the sky, your feet carried you without effort—down the small slope at the edge of the village.

There, nestled among lush meadows and golden fields, stood the old church. Idyllic. Noble. Its rust-red roof glowing almost magically in the golden hue of the setting sun. The normally pale beige walls looked like they were dipped in gold.

It felt like something sacred. Untouchable.

But the fire inside you had nothing to do with worship.

Your heart was pounding fast—loud and hard from excitement—as you kept biting your lip. You couldn’t stop yourself.

More and more often, your thoughts circled around the new priest. Around him.

And more often than not, you lay awake at night, tangled in your white sheets, fingers wandering as the name of that striking man passed over your lips.

Levi.

He made you wet—no denying it.

Those sharp, steel-gray eyes. That voice—rough and low like a storm rolling in. His hands, large and sure. And yet the thought of him touching you was absurd. Distant. He would never lay a hand on you.

And maybe that’s exactly what made you want him more.

That impossible tension. That forbidden heat. The raw magnetism of a man who exuded control, discipline, danger—and who had no idea how irresistible he was.

You couldn’t resist him.

You didn’t want to.

-

The church stood alone, glowing with promise in the deep red of the setting sky. You reached the heavy, iron-bound doors and pushed them open.

Inside—it was quiet.

You were alone.

The altar was bare, but thick candles still flickered along its edge, casting long shadows.

Light poured through the mosaic windows, painting the inside of the church with a kaleidoscope of color—like the whole place had been drowned in liquid gemstones.

The faint, lingering scent of incense from the last evening mass still hung in the air.

And it welcomed you.

The faint scent of incense from the last evening mass still lingered in the air.

You tilted your head back, eyes fixed on the ceiling—and on the massive statues looming above. Men, women, angels… all carved in stone, all looking down upon you.

Were they judging you?

Condemning you?

You bit your lip, and with quiet, careful steps, you slipped toward the confessionals. They were made of dark wood, with black glass panes and deep emerald curtains. The handles were wrought in ornate black metal, cold to the touch.

Your heart nearly burst from your chest when a voice echoed from within.

“Come in. Unburden your soul.”

That voice. You would recognize it anywhere.

Levi.

Your knees went weak.

He didn’t know who stood outside. He couldn’t. There was no way he could guess that you had come here tonight. And yet… you stepped inside.

The chamber was small, dim. As the door closed behind you, you flinched. Not that he could have seen it—divided by the dark pane of glass in the center, all he’d see were vague shadows.

You sat down slowly, breathing shallow, your heartbeat thundering in your ears.

The only thing you could hear in that moment…

was your own breath.

You sat down slowly. The only sound you could hear was your own breathing.

Gradually, your eyes adjusted to the darkness, and you began to recognize the rough outline of the man sitting on the other side.

“Something’s weighing on you. You’re longing for something… searching. I can give you what you need.”

That deep, calm voice sent a chill down your spine. But you said nothing—just leaned back.

Silence settled thick between you. You lowered your head, resting it against the cold wooden panel.

“I’ve sinned, Daddy,” you whispered.

The man on the other side visibly tensed, and a long, heavy pause followed.

“(Y/N),”

You suddenly felt hot, and flinched slightly.

He knew your name.

But what really made your heart race wasn’t that—it was his voice. It was rough. Less melodic than when he spoke to his other worshippers.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, sharp and warning in his tone.

You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, slowly dragging a finger from your neck down to the valley between your breasts.

Your eyes fluttered.

“I want to confess, Father.”

The man flinched again, barely keeping it together. The way you said the word—so teasing, so deliberately tempting—it sent a shiver through him.

You were dirty. And he felt it. Like cold fire crawling down his spine.

He straightened his shoulders, swallowed down the rage that had started to rise in him. Forced himself to stay composed.

“Speak to me. Share with me and with God. I can help you, (Y/N).”

You sighed softly, closed your eyes.

“I’ve been bad… I had… thoughts. Dirty thoughts.”

The man on the other side felt his collar grow tight. He loosened it, swallowing hard.

His breathing grew heavier—wasn’t it obvious?

“What kind of thoughts?” he asked, his voice now close against the partition.

You shut your eyes again and let your hand slide gently over your own breast.

“Thoughts about you, Father. About the things we’d do.”

You dropped the title from your voice, did something you weren’t supposed to—but you didn’t care.

„In those thoughts, you touched me… everywhere. I felt you inside me.”

You listened for a reaction, but he stayed silent as you confessed every sin.

„I touched myself often. And I dreamed of you, Father.”

The black-haired man exhaled sharply through his nose, dragging a rough hand across his face.

It suddenly felt hot in the confessional. Something rose inside him.

You were provoking him. Testing him.

Pushing him straight to the edge.

You listened into the silence and heard your own heavy breathing.

“Father… what is my penance?”

You waited for an answer—but there was nothing. Just silence.

And when you looked closer…

The other side was empty.

But you didn’t get time to think.

The door burst open with force.

And there he stood.

If you had tried to explain to anyone the kind of fury and darkness burning in his stormy blue-gray eyes—no one would’ve believed you.

You stepped back instinctively.

But the man grabbed your arm, yanking you out with a strength that made your breath catch.

Your knees threatened to give out as you looked up at him—

And his eyes?

They pierced straight through you. Cold. Merciless.

“Forty spanks.“

You blinked, confused, sure you’d misheard.

But the man didn’t look like he was joking.

Not even a little.

You stared at him, lips parted, confused.

“F-Forty?” you asked, your voice unsure, wavering between defiance and arousal.

But Levi didn’t answer.

He let go of your arm only to grab you by the chin, forcing your eyes back up to his.

His touch wasn’t gentle—Levi never was.

His fingers were firm, demanding.

„Did I stutter?”

His low voice left no room for argument.

You felt the shiver all the way down your spine.

You wanted this.

You knew it.

He knew it.

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, his dark voice brushing your ear. „You want absolution?”

You nodded—barely. That was enough.He pushed you toward the bench.

“Then take your punishment like a good little sinner.”

You were too dazed to resist as he pulled you forward, right onto the altar, where he suddenly pressed your upper body flat against the podium. You felt his hand on your back.

Your breath grew shallow, and your heart pounded in your chest.

The cold of the podium seeped into your bare skin where your shirt had ridden up.

„What are you doing?“ you shouted into the empty church. Your voice echoed.

„You? You address me as 'Father.' This is a matter of respect.“

You fell silent. Your heart seemed to drop into your stomach as his fingers gripped the waistband of your pants. With one sharp tug, he yanked them down, leaving your backside exposed.

You flinched, instinctively trying to sit up—but there was no escaping your helpless position.

Your face burned crimson as you realized what was coming. Fear and arousal twisted together inside you, a sickening cocktail. You felt the man lean over you, his weight pressing down. His blue eyes glittered in the light of the mosaics. Then, in a low, rough voice, he spoke into your ear.

„I want you to count them.“

With your hands pinned behind your back, you lay there, staring up at the statues and paintings that now seemed to gaze down at you.

“Forty with my hand—right on that sinful little ass.“

He grabs your ass roughly.

„Right here“-„You want forgiveness? Then count every fucking one.”

„Ah!“

Then the first slap rang out—sharp and loud. The man’s warm hand collided firmly with your bare flesh. You clenched your lips shut, but the second spank landed even harder than the first. You felt its vibration deep inside you.

„I said count,“ the man ordered sternly.

You flushed, pressing your face into the red cloth where the Bible usually lay.

„T-two“ you stammered, voice trembling.

You squeezed your eyes shut as the next strike came—then another, and another, and another. His hand lingered dangerously close to your core, fingers resting too long on your burning skin. You could feel his heat where the strikes had left you aflame.

You’d provoked this man for a long time—you knew that.

But now, a question crept in: Had this been a terrible mistake?

The next strike landed, sending a violent shudder straight through you.

And you felt yourself growing wet.

Worse—you knew he could see it. The slickness between your thighs glistened under the candlelight.

The next strike landed, and this time, you couldn’t suppress it:

A loud moan escaped you.

You expected some reaction from him—anything to remind you this wasn’t meant for pleasure. That he’d realize what he was doing and stop.

„Mmmh- Father please, forgive me“

But he simply continued. With every strike, you gasped, whimpered, arched, moaned. His hand now brushed against the warmth trickling down your inner thighs. You noticed—he noticed—how some strikes grew softer, drifting closer to where you burned. Heat coiled low in his gut as your sounds echoed through the darkened church.

His gaze locked onto your body, your bare skin. He knew he should stop.

But he hadn’t even reached forty yet...

[marksbear2]

hai im a yume of omni man so i wanted to request a omni man x ftm reader if thats ok!!! nsfw and sfw hcs i dont mind ☆

Omni Man x ftm reader

Hey guys!! I’m back and this is my first anything after not writing for a long time. Someone request a Cecil or a conquest fic 🤤 see how down bad I get.

Warnings ⚠️!!— FTM reader, fluff to smut, trans reader. Pre and post transition. Strap, creampie, oral, switch reader and Nolan. And more etc!!⚠️

— Nolan is surprisingly attentive when it comes to your needs, even if he doesn’t always get human social nuances. Once he learns about your transition, he doesn’t question it — to him, you’re you, and that’s all that matters.

— He doesn’t mind helping you bind your chest with tape or help you put on your binder. Even when you two are rushing to get somewhere he spends the last spare minutes with you helping you what you need to get done. He also takes it off for you and gives you a shirt that you can sleep in.

— If you get top surgery he’ll spend most of his time by your side while you recover. He rants about how you should be resting and not overworking yourself.

— He’s hyper-aware of making sure you’re comfortable, especially physically. If you’re ever feeling dysphoric, he immediately adjusts — no questions asked, just pure support. He has a blunt but oddly comforting way of grounding you. “You are who you say you are. Anyone who questions that? They’re wrong. Period.”

— He distracts you with kisses and other affections while he helps you take your T-shot.

— When you first show him your scars (surgery scars, binder lines, etc.), he presses soft kisses to them without hesitation — like they’re sacred battle marks, proof of your strength.

— While Omni-Man can sometimes be distant or focused on his mission, you has a grounding influence on him. They’ve learned to navigate each other’s emotional landscapes, with the reader helping Omni-Man open up more and show affection.

— Parenthood for you is a mix of softness and strength. You’ve always known how to protect your own, and with Nolan’s guidance, you’ve become an incredible team. Sometimes, you’ll catch him staring at your little one, a look of awe in his eyes. Maybe it’s because they remind him of both of you—strong, resilient, and full of love.

— Late-night talks are a thing between you two. The weight of his responsibilities as Omni-Man gets to him sometimes, and you’re there, always willing to listen. He won’t talk about the darkness of his past, but in those moments, he lets his guard down. “You’re the only thing that feels like home,” he’ll whisper, and your heart will skip.

— While Omni-Man struggles with the notion of having human attachments, he’s undeniably soft in his own way. His pride and love for the reader often clash, leading to moments of intense tension, but always with a layer of admiration that shows through when he looks at them.

— Omni-Man is usually a man of few words, and even less when it comes to admitting fault, but after the fight, he can’t stand the distance between you two. He steps into your space, and without saying a word, his lips find yours in a fiery kiss. The passion in the kiss is raw—raw from frustration, love, and the undeniable need to close the emotional gap. It’s like he’s kissing the argument out of both of you.

NSFW BELOW

— He’s obsessed with your scent. He’ll nuzzle into your neck and just breathe you in, low rumbling growls vibrating from his chest, especially when he’s worked up.

— He’s all about the build-up — slow, deliberate licks that start from your hips, up your inner thighs, around your most sensitive spots. He’ll tease you relentlessly, making you beg before he even touches the areas that are burning for attention. He’ll be eating you out for hours not caring if you can’t handle it or had enough.

— Fucking your thighs in the middle of the night. He cock sliding up and down in between them while you moved and squeezed your thighs around his cock. His deep grunts filling your ear while you hush him to be quiet.

— His hands are everywhere — gripping your wrists, your hips, your neck — like he’s scared if he lets go, you’ll slip away. His touch is possessive but gentle, as if he’s trying to be careful, but the force of his thrusts tells you otherwise.

— Omni-Man is gentle at first — despite being a powerful, war-hardened warrior, he’s never been with someone like you before. He’s aware of your body, your scars, your vulnerabilities. His touch is slow, reverent, as if he wants to savor the moment and make sure you’re comfortable.

— He’s a perfectionist. His focus is absolute when he’s giving you oral, taking his time to learn every inch of you, savoring your taste. His hands grip your thighs tightly, keeping you still while his mouth works magic on you. He loves the sounds you make when he speeds up, pulling off just to flick his tongue over your slit, then swallowing you back down like he’s starving for you. The way your body trembles under his touch sends an electric thrill through him.

— Sometimes when you’re feeling insecure about your body, he’ll literally worship you — kissing down your chest, mouthing at your hips. He takes his time sucking on your nipples and kissing whatever insecurity you have.

— He has this thing about your hands — seeing them ball up in his hair, clutching his uniform, clawing down his back — it shatters his self-control. Watching you as you fingered your own pussy, masturbating in front of him with no shame. He couldn’t help himself but started to jack off his cock inches away from your fingers.

— He has no shame about mutual masturbation — he’ll sit back on the couch, legs spread wide, watching you touch yourself under his heavy gaze, stroking himself lazily, telling you what a good, filthy boy you are.

—He has a total size kink — seeing his huge hands around your throat, your waist, your thighs drives him insane. He’ll pin your wrists with one hand, just to watch you squirm and whimper for him as he used his free hand to finger you.

—- Omni-Man is obsessed with overstimulating you — holding you down, making you take it even when you’re trembling and begging. He’ll praise you through it, his voice like molten velvet: “You can handle it, I know you can.”

— Omni-Man loves the feeling of being inside you, and when he finally cums deep inside you, it’s a primal, animalistic feeling — as if he’s marking you in the most intimate way possible. His entire body trembles when he fills you, the sheer possessiveness of it overwhelming. When he’s about to cum, his voice gets rougher — a low, guttural growl slipping from his lips as he holds you close, not letting you go, claiming you in the most visceral way. He’s breathless, on the edge, murmuring your name in a way that makes you shiver.

— He loves the idea of filling you, claiming your body in such a personal way. The thought of leaving himself inside you, of marking you with every drop, makes him feel possessive and protective — like you’re his in a way no one else can be. As he cums, he’s not shy about it — his hands grip your hips, pulling you in deeper, thrusting into you with an intensity that makes you both see stars. He fills you up, groaning your name with a growl that shakes his chest. It’s the most intimate he’s ever been, and he’s addicted to the feeling.

— When you first bring up using a strap on him he thought you were joking. He wanted to play into it and watched you online shop for them but when he saw you actually buy it with a smile on your face his heart stopped for a moment.

— Seeing you wearing the strap — standing over him, cocky and strong — shatters his composure. He’ll stare at you with wild, desperate eyes, literally aching to be filled again. He even sucked it before to get it all nice and ready for himself.

— He’s embarrassingly sensitive when you use the strap on him. One slow grind against his prostate and he’s already groaning into the mattress, fists clenching in the sheets, his whole body twitching. Nolan wants you rough sometimes — pulling his hair, forcing him to stay still, slapping his ass while you pound into him. His pride shatters for you, and he begs so pretty when you make him ask for more.

— Secretly, he fantasizes about letting you fuck him somewhere dangerous — high in the clouds, on an alien battlefield after a win — while he moans your name loud enough to shake the stars. The thought of someone as worshiped and loved like him getting caught being fucked turns the hell out of him.

THE END

[magnus-marmot]

TMAGP 39 analysis: Dreams in seven stages

SPOILERS. Please listen to the episode first, I'll leave my analysis under the cut. This feels big. It will also be a long post so buckle up.

Yes, the episode was heartbreaking and I do feel emotions, but I'm also way too deep into the alchemy rabbit hole to comment on the emotional impact. So I'll get right into the meat of it all, ie. Alice's statement. I was excepting to get a pure fear-based statement, and you can certainly read it as a mixture of the Buried, Corruption, Flesh and maybe Desolation. But it feels oddly fragmented to represent the fears, and that's because it's instead an almost perfect analogy for a transmutation. Let me first walk you through the seven stages of the Great Work (the number of stages vary from text to text but I'm going with seven) and explain how they relate to the statement, and then I'll get to what I think this all means.

1. Calcination

Alice is wrapped in a curtain and begins to heat up, much like how matter is trapped inside a container and burned down to ashes. Psychologically, this stage signifies the beginning of the ego death, and it burns away your conscious mind and the rigid societal masks, such as Alice's customer service role in the dream.

"I start to struggle, first in anger and then in panic as I grow hotter and hotter and feel myself begin to suffocate." [...] "I can’t breathe any more and it’s so warm and… wet. The cloth is sodden and warm and heavy."

The heating wasn't always done by direct fire, it was sometimes achieved by encasing the matter within other substances and letting its "natural heat" do the work. This would be a much slower process and wouldn't necessarily reduce the matter to ashes (but would nevertheless reveal its body or Salt).

2. Dissolution

Alice's ego has stopped resisting the transformation, and she's beginning to dissolve. At this point, alchemists would reintroduce moisture into the remaining matter or Salt (sometimes inserting its own sublimated Mercury back into it, sometimes purifying it with other liquids). This is what Jung would equate to dissolving into the dark mercurial sea of the unconscious.

"There is a deep, low roar all around me, rumbling and rushing in all directions; incessant and overwhelming. Soon I can’t tell the difference between the noise around me and the rushing of my own blood in my ears. They are one and the same… swelling and ebbing in time together."

This is the purifying water rushing in and Alice dissolving into it, her own blood becoming one with the solution.

"I recognise what is wrapped around me, what is shrouding me and smothering me and will not let me free: Living, sweating flesh."

As a side note: This is both confusing and interesting to me, because Bonzo's been associated with sweating skin a couple of times now. In alchemy, "sweat" or "dew" is often associated with the moisture that forms on the outside of the glass vessel when it's heated. Not sure what to make of this, but it feels connected. Especially with the curtain also being both wet and warm. I'm yet to find the perfect text that ties skin to alchemy.

3. Separation

At this stage, we can finally separate the matter into its components, find its true essence and separate it from the rest. Similarly, Alice is able to locate the source of her pain and fear within herself:

"I reach for it but it’s burrowed too deep into me. I just want to grab it and rip it out, tear out whatever is inside me, throw the festering mass as far from me as I can." [...] "It is me and I am it and I am trapped within myself and no matter what I do I will never escape this living tomb."

Psychologically, this is the moment Jung describes as encountering our own Shadow in the unconscious.

4. Conjunction

Perhaps the most important stage in an alchemical work. It's when two opposing substances are combined in a union. The purified aspects of the matter are brought back together, the gold is unified with the silver, Jung's contrasexual archetypes (Animus and Anima) are reconciled with each other. Symbolically, it's the union of the king and queen, sun and moon, Sulphur and Mercury, mind and body, or...

Sam and Alice.

"You are there and we are together again. There is no speech, no contact beyond the crushing embrace of skin and bone to which we belong but I can feel you within myself and feel myself within you. And while I lie foetal and squirming in this bloody rushing meat you stand cracked and sharp, enshrined in bone but we are together… together…"

5-7 Fermentation, Distillation and Coagulation

The last stages are intermingled and run through pretty fast in the statement. Basically, in fermentation the matter is let to rot and decompose (ie. putrefied) so that new life can be born out of the remains. In distillation, liquid is extracted from the matter, after which it's cooled and condensed and then sometimes reintroduced to the mixture in a series of circular processes. Eventually, the matter is coagulated, and it takes its final, physical form. Psychologically, it's where the self emerges through integration of the conscious ego and the unconscious shadow.

"Then it begins to cool, the overbearing heat slowly giving way to a pallid chill as the once pliant muscle stiffens like cured leather around and between us. We can feel the liquid pooling beneath then slowly rising, tepid and viscous as the skin wilts and sags upon us, dragging us down into bubbling putrescence below. The body, our body, rots, warping and wilting and bulging and melting, around us and within us, sloughing off and away leaving us, only us, naked and withered and bleeding and starving and shitting and dying… but together. Always together."

So what does this all mean?

Now's the time for my hear-me-outs. If we are to accept that the reality rift that ended the Eyepocalypse has (mostly) banished the fear entities from that universe, and that the fears are potentially bleeding into other dimensions (such as our TMAGP one)... who's to say that it's a one-way street? What if the fears are bleeding in, but at the same time the alchemy is bleeding out?

Apparently, there are now people in the TMA universe who keep revisiting their domains in their dreams. As we have seen, dreams are a recurring theme on both sides of the rift, and I think it's also bringing people closer to the border. Dreaming and meditation are considered states that bring one's mind closer to the collective unconscious (or the mercurial sea), which is why archetypes often manifest in our dreams. If you recall in episode 17, the anger management guy was transported into another dimension when he was meditating in a doctor's waiting room that (and this was specifically pointed out to us) didn't have a clock on the wall. So he's sitting in a definitionally liminal space with no sense of time, and his mind was in an altered state of consciousness. My point is, the dreams are not caused by the fears, they are bringing these people closer to the boundary between the realities, where they get their fix of whatever dark domain-induced fantasy it is they're clinging to. (Almost like something's reflecting their twisted wishes, hmm.)

I feel like I have to revisit the case about that Beholding-obsessed victim of bullying. There were some oddities about that statement where my alchemy bells were ringing, but I brushed it off since I thought we were only dealing with the fears on this side. However, with this statement being such an obvious allegory, I feel like there might be something more for me to dig into.

P.S. This episode truly did break my heart. I just wish she could let go.

Edit: After writing this I realised that it's also the five stages of grief, which is why the final three stages were sort of jumbled together in the fifth and final stage.

[fruitsywriting]

Hi! Was just wondering if you could do mark x rex x gn!reader hcs where reader basically are/has the personality of blue diamond (from steven universe) story/scenario can be completely up to you! :3

Note: This took me so long because I have never watched Steven Universe so I was researching it... then i got hit with being sick because of my medication.. it was a lot. Sorry for any errors I got in this, I tried my best with what I could comprehend lol.

Ship: Rex x Gn!Reader x Mark

Fandom: Invincible

Warnings: None

This is a small drabble I was able to do after rewriting this a few times.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

　　　.   　　˚　✭　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　　✭　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 ✦. ✭　.　　. 　 ˚　.　

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

🌨️₊˚.🎧 ˚.🩵*🎐✩｡

As the battle against a villain they had never seen before drags out, Rex is wondering where the hell Invincible is. Or, where the hell the rest of the heroes are. It’s hard when it’s only Rex on the scene, trying to keep this villain from injuring more civilians. All he can do is throw small explosions to move the villain back while trying to use the big ones to at least stun him or injure him. It feels like hours before Atom Eve and Invincible show up and have a hand in safely capturing this new villain. 

Invincible, Mark Grayson, turns to Rex with a sheepish smile and hovers down to land in front of Rex.

“Sorry about that, Eve and I-”

“Were what??” Rex snaps without even thinking about it.

Mark is taken aback before getting defensive himself, “Don’t tell me you’re jealous. You and Eve aren’t even dating anymore!”

Rex can’t let the real reason slip through, he can’t let Mark know that lately he catches himself staring at Mark a little too longer than usual. How he has been slacking as a hero, because he’s distracted thinking about Mark, and secretly hoping that Invincible will come while simultaneously giving him shit saying he had it- in a joking manner of course. He can’t let him know he doesn’t want Mark dating Eve because he wants Mark. He bites his tongue and walks away, muttering about how all of this is bullshit. Mark just sighs and rants to Eve about it, he thought him and Rex were cool but as the last two weeks have been going on- it appears differently.

Rex is helping check on the civilians among the one building that was destroyed. Good news is the building was small, and caused minimal damage- and it was a work building meaning no one lost a home. Someone immediately catches his attention. They appear sad, maybe they’re hurt or worried. Something, something he should definitely check on to make sure they’re okay.

“Hey, are you hurt? Do you need medical attention?” He asks politely, while scanning over their body for obvious injuries.

“Ah no, I’m fine.” Their voice is tranquil to listen to, calming but also in a state of grieving. He wants to ask more questions, but none are coming to mind as they lift their head ever so slightly so their eyes are available to look at. 

🌨️₊˚.🎧 ˚.🩵*🎐✩｡

That was when you met Rex. He was checking in on you every so often, to the point it would be considered weird. But he quickly clarifies that your demeanor seems blue, and he just wants to make sure you’re at least mentally okay. The thought warmed your heart and you were able to make small talk with him. You could tell that it was more than just your sorrowful yet tranquil demeanor that intrigued him however. You definitely knew when he slipped a piece of paper with several digits on it, along with his name. It was just confirmation.

🌨️₊˚.🎧 ˚.🩵*🎐✩｡

It took you a few days before you texted him, because of several reasons. One, you were looking for a new job. Two, you were distracted and somewhat laying in bed all day. Three, he made you a little nervous. Perhaps it was a crush forming, or perhaps the man was just intimidating. However- you finally got the courage and sent the message.

You: Hi, it’s me from the other day.

Rex: Took you long enough

Rex: Jkjk

Rex: How are you doing?

After making small talk with him, he tries to call you. You jump at the notification flashing on your screen and you take several deep breaths before answering.

“Hello?”

“Hi, do you wanna go to dinner with me?”

🌨️₊˚.🎧 ˚.🩵*🎐✩｡

At first, dinner with Rex was peaceful and good. He knew the perfect amount of talking to do, knew when you wanted to be quiet for a minute to enjoy the meal without someone talking with food in their mouth. He seemed like a genuine guy, so far- a second date was looking promising for the both of you.

That was, until halfway through the main course meal a man harshly sat down next to him. He crossed his arms like he was mad at Rex (and you couldn’t help but look at how his arms flexed in his short sleeved T-shirt.). Rex looks shocked for a moment before he grimaces. 

(In Mark’s defense, he didn’t know this was a date he was crashing)

“Are you going to tell me what’s your problem? I thought we were going good but you got mad at me? Is it jealousy, Rex?” Mark says in a demanding but angered tone. Rex matches the energy, because ain’t no way Mark just crashed on his date talking about being jealous. 

“This can wait-”

“No, because you’ve been ignoring my texts and calls. Why are you so mad? I’m not-”

“Mark, I’m in the middle of something.” He gestures to the table, food, and to you. You sit there awkwardly, and have a completely different impression of what is going on. 

“Rex, are you in an open relationship or something? Is this your boyfriend?” 

The two whip their heads around to you, stunned by the blunt question. They both talk over each other, trying to clear things up, trying to smooth things out, and trying to explain themselves. You have to calmly interrupt them, by holding up a hand.

“I don’t mind, but I would’ve preferred a heads up. Unless you were planning to tell me later during dinner, then I wouldn’t have minded.”

Rex cuts off that thought, “Mark isn’t my boyfriend.”

Mark is sitting there, connecting dots before he gasps, “Wait, were you jealous of Eve?? Do you like me?”

“WHAT”

🌨️₊˚.🎧 ˚.🩵*🎐✩｡

This is when you enter the stage of trying to navigate Polyamory with them. It took a long talk about it, with you explaining the concept to them before they decided to try it. Mark is interested in you, but not in the same way Rex is. Rex sees you as someone who is a calming force in his life, someone who balances out everything and is very empathetic. Mark sees you as someone who can understand him a little better than most on an emotional level. Even if you don’t go through what he did, the way you take on his emotions makes him feel like you deeply understand. Who knew that you would be the bridge that helped Mark and Rex make up and see their feelings for each other- and for you?

[theentityvoidserver]

Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable.

But sometimes that comfort is sobbing your heart out because you just feel it so much and it’s okay to cry because you’re not the only one going through it-

[melon-the-great]

Mean :(

You made persian SAD, are you happy now?

[lucydacusgirl]

You absolutely can tell when clothes are bad quality but like. Where are you meant to buy clothes that are good quality.