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keyotos · 8 months ago

Text

➳ you're my achilles heel

summary ⎯ niche microtropes w/ the hsr men! emphasis on the micro (not rlly)

includes ⎯ dan heng, aventurine & jing yuan

tana talks ⎯ who's missed me? i've been gone for a HOT minute, and what other way to come back than kickstarting my 1k event: niche microtropes! more info about that will be here. thank you so so much for 1k!!!!

dan heng

when they both have to share a bed and one of them reveals it was the best night of sleep they've ever had

⎯ dan heng has made a lot of mistakes in his life, and letting march choose hotel rooms has to be one of them.

⎯ granted, he truly thought that march would do a good job at choosing the hotel, financial planning, and of course–choosing the rooms.

⎯ and everything was great. until you and dan heng had to share a bed.

you and dan heng shifted around the bed a few times before finally settling into designated spots. it was decided that dan heng would sleep on the outside, while you slept near the wall. his back faced you as he tucked himself into bed.

⎯ you and dan heng were friends. this awkwardness wasn't normal, and there should be no reason for the two of you to be avoiding each other like you are now. alas, here you are now, laying at least a foot apart.

⎯ the room is completely silent, and a bit cold as well. dan heng felt a breeze constantly grazing his shoulders. yeah. there was no way he could sleep like this

⎯ you, on the other hand, felt too hot. you had most of the blankets on your side and you felt SUFFOCATED. sometimes, it felt hard to breathe. but u weren't sure if that was just nerves or bc of how hot you felt.

⎯ ultimately, you are the one who has to make the first move.

"dan heng," you turned around and whispered, "are you cold?"

⎯ obviously, he was cold. but was he going to say anything about it?? no.

"i'm fine," he said, still facing his back towards you. "are you cold?" you gulped at the dry response. usually, you find yourself always wanting to talk to dan heng. he was never a boring converser, so why was he acting so strange tonight? but then again, you had no room to talk—you haven't said a word to dan heng until now.

⎯ at this point, you're a little frustrated at the lack of communication between the both of you. so—being the problem solver that you are—you decide to do something about it

slowly, you inch closer to dan heng—just to test the waters, of course. dan heng doesn't reach much, only a small head turn once he feels a dip in the mattress. you take some of the blanket and throw it over dan heng, awaiting his response.

⎯ meanwhile, dan heng over here is internally flipping out. when you inched towards him, dan heng could feel his heart skipping more than a few beats. and when you threw the blanket over him, dan heng wasn't sure if he felt warm due to the blanket or you.

⎯ when he finally turns over, you have to hide your wide eyes and slacked mouth underneath the blanket. you peer back up, and he's staring right at you.

"are... you okay?" you whisper underneath the blanket. "i'm cold," is all dan heng says. you hide your smile underneath the blanket, but you have a feeling dan heng knows you're smiling anyway. he's looking straight in your eyes after all.

⎯ and then you say it. you practically hit the pentagon.

you open up the blanket to where it reveals a dark silhouette of your body. "do you want to share?"

⎯ dan heng practically malfunctions. usually, there are always things dan heng says to fill the silence. he never runs out of words. not in a talkative way like march, but rather, he has an extensive vocabulary

⎯ this time though? haha. very funny. he's gone mute.

dan heng blinks at you while you hold the blanket open. you raise an eyebrow, taunting him. he squeezes his eyes shut, and then reopens them to find you still holding the blanket. was he halluncinating?

"i don't want to intrude." "oh please," you quietly laugh, "we're already sharing a bed. we crossed the line of intrusion a few hours ago."

⎯ and that sounds like a good deal to the both of you. except, one thing.

"are things going to change after this?" dan heng asks you. you're glad it's dark, so dan heng doesn't see you flush, "i don't see why things would change," you say, maintaining a calm face.

⎯ that's enough to get dan heng under the covers with you.

⎯ you two sleep wonderfully the rest of the night—you two even woke up early too. you were the one to wake up first. the sun shone on your face, yet you didn't even feel the glare at all. you felt energized, which was weird considering that you went to bed at questionable hour last night.

⎯ oh, and you also felt a pair of arms over your waist too. and something pressing into your neck. and something wrapping around your legs. and you also feel really hot. is that from the sun????

⎯ yeah. it's going to be harder to keep your word.

aventurine

those dancing scenes where it just so happens that the lighting focuses on the two of you

⎯ lavish parties and extravagant events weren’t new to aventurine, who just so happened to stumble on one of the biggest on penacony

⎯ sometimes, the families hold galas. it’s more of an exclusive thing, so aventurine had to do some awkward mingling in order to get in. that includes a very awkward conversation with a security guard, who kept raising eyebrows at his outfit.

⎯ beforehand, he had no interest in going to this event. however, once faced with the possibility that he could gather intel, his mind quickly changed.

⎯ now, he is standing right next to you, the heir to penacony's iris family. in his short time on the planet, he's seen your face countless times: on billboards, commercials, and next to various items. but seeing it in person?

⎯ way. different.

"you've never been dancing before?" you lead the ipc executive, aventurine, down the halls of the iris family's ballroom. aventurine shakes his head as he follows you, "not once. though, as the iris family's biggest celebrity, i take it you're used to dances?" your eyes widen when you hear him utter the compliment, "i'm... i'm not sure i'm the biggest celebrity," you rub your neck sheepishly. you tilt your head back, "and i don't think i can remember a time where i didn't dance."

⎯ aventurine has one goal tonight, and it's to get information about the families. if all goes according to plan, then he'd have the upper hand on penacony itself, thus being able to use his knowledge as a bargaining chip for the ipc.

⎯ and if there's one thing aventurine is good at, it's bargains.

⎯ so now, aventurine is trying his hardest to charm you into giving out any information. because people like you always talk.

"that must've been nice," aventurine eggs you on, "from what i can tell, parties on penacony are always fun." you let out a small laugh, "i'm glad you think that." the two of you walk side-by-side, and you aren't saying a single thing. aventurine flexes his hand by his side, preparing to make more idle chatter. he's about to open his mouth when a bright, shining light beams onto the both of you.

⎯ from the look on your face, aventurine can tell that you did not like that. he stands there passively, awaiting for your next move.

⎯ what he did not expect was for you to hold out your hand for him.

"um," you clear your throat. your eyes dart around the room and you gulp, holding out your hand, "may i have this dance?"

⎯ aventurine meets your nervous eyes with his wide ones. it looks like the two of you have no other choice. eyes are on the both of you when aventurine takes your hand, and you pull him into a quiet space in the ballroom.

⎯ let's get one thing straight: aventurine does not know how to dance.

⎯ so currently, he's trying to avoid stepping on your toes, while trying to remain in sync with you. on the inside, aventurine is annoyed. there are ears everywhere, meaning that there's a bigger risk. however, aventurine is all about risks, and the night is still young.

"i thought you liked dances," aventurine purposefully whispers into your ear, and he can feel the heat rise up. his voice is sultry and sweet, and he hopes to get you addicted to it soon. you look up at him with crinkled eyes. the light is glaring on you, and it seems like you're glinting instead of shining. "i never said that." aventurine takes notice of the rise and fall of your chest—much faster than when the two of you met. the corner of his lip raises a little bit, "oh, i'm sorry. but are you uncomfortable? i thought you've been doing this for years? let me know if i can do anything to help?" he offers.

⎯ you only smile, and aventurine gives you a polite smile back. he follows your lead, waiting for you to say something, but you only lead him around the ballroom.

⎯ the light is still trailing after you, except it's beaming more on aventurine than you at this point.

⎯ it's beaming more on aventurine. oh. he gets it now.

"do you wanna get out of here?" he whispers in your ear once again. he has to try his hardest to bite down the smirk that was about to appear on his face. this was going to be easier than he thought. you grab his hand in a tight hold, "no," you firmly state, "we're staying here."

⎯ wow. what a shift of tone.

"i need your help," you mutter under your breath. "help me, and i'll do anything," you look up into his eyes, pleading with him through your gaze.

⎯ aventurine nearly steps on your feet. what?

"uh–what?" aventurine questions you as you keep moving.

"sneak me out of here. we can't go through the doors—there's the bloodhound family everywhere. but i need you to get me out," you beseech. you grab his hand, bringing it up to your chest and slowly sliding it down to your waist.

⎯ aventurine has to remind himself to keep his cool multiple times. breathe in, breathe out. what were you getting at here? why did you want to escape?

"listen, what i said earlier. about the parties. i need to get out," you spin yourself around and back into the blond. "help me," you connect your palms as you circle him, "and i'll help you," you intertwine your fingers together.

⎯ the light still glistens over the both of you. and aventurine thinks two things: he's gotten into something he didn't need to get into, and that he finally has a way into the family.

jing yuan

second chance romance, except the two of you have been keeping tabs on one another the entire time.

⎯ jing yuan's childhood is filled of fond memories: his old master, the bright and sunny days when he would train, and you.

⎯ you, who jing yuan would willingly miss trainings for. you, the brilliant and clever reporter who broadcasted for the people. you, who jing yuan had to let go.

⎯ he'd spend days rereading what you've wrote; whether it be small stories or big news on the luofu. everything you had written intoxicated him. however, all good things have to end eventually.

⎯ the break-up wasn't even technically a break up, because you two weren't even together. the harsh reality was that you two were just friends, so jing yuan has no actual reason to be moping around. people lose friends all the time, and with jing yuan's lifestyle, it was bound to be imminent.

⎯ as the general, jing yuan had new priorities, and it seems like you weren't one of them anymore.

⎯ so, you move on with your career. you founded the xianzhou's very own broadcasting channel, which aired to the millions of citizens across all ships. you're a superstar who hasn't left their core values. rather than the big stories, you focus on local ones. you focus on the people.

⎯ and general jing yuan... focuses on his job. sort of. not really.

⎯ can you really say that a general is focused on his job when he goes missing?

"jing yuan," your side aches once you utter his name, and you suppress an agonized moan, "why are you here?"

⎯ you know what they say, old habits die hard.

⎯ the founder of the xianzhou's broadcasting channel was found in critical condition a few days ago. you had been reporting on the a civil case that had struck on one of the ships, and—next thing you know—blood ran from your fingertips and you rushed into a critical care unit.

"how did you even get here?" you ask as you lift yourself up higher on the bed. jing yuan steps forward, but you move back. "i haven't spoken to you in years. you cut me off, and then you show up now? can i atleast get an explanation on how you found me?"

⎯ jing yuan's silence tells you all that you need to know. you keep up with the dozing general, even if you are off the luofu. because still, even after all these years, your heart trails after him.

"i wanted to see you," jing yuan blurts. his voice is much more deeper than you remember it to be. "so i contacted the hospital and told them that my old friend was in critical condition, and i needed to see you." you scoff, "an old friend is a stretch." you pause and look down at your hands. and then, a thought furrows in your mind. "wait, if you knew where i was hospitalized—you read my articles?" "i've never stopped."

⎯ oh. oh? oh????

⎯ safe to say that you were rendered speechless. the next five minutes were spent by you staring at jing yuan, jaw-dropped and all.

"how long?" you asked. "too long," jing yuan dryly chuckles. "since i left."

⎯ the air is thick, and things are obviously tense. and there are so many things to talk about. so many things to tell him. such as how you've surfed before (it was a big dream of yours). or how you finally adopted the cat you always wanted (you hope he brings up his lion).

⎯ and while you sit there, you realize that you've missed this. how could you even live without this for hundreds of years? without him? was it surreal to feel so strongly about a person that left so long ago?

⎯ so many milestones missed. so many to make up for. so many things to talk about. so many things to clear up. and you still want to do it all with jing yuan.

⎯ does he still want to do it with you?

you clear your throat, attempting to sit up straighter. you're struggling, and you've never felt so embarrassed in your life. while trying to adjust yourself once more, you see a shadow appear above you, and it's the one and only jing yuan. "do you need help?" he asks, holding his arm out for you as support. you take it gladly, pulling yourself up by grabbing onto his (big) forearm. "thank you," you dust yourself off, checking your side for any rips in your stitches. "now," you begin, letting out a shaky breath, "i think... i think we're overdue for a chat."

⎯ you knew jing yuan. you'd like to know him now. jing yuan knew you too, and now—judging by the look on his face—he'd like to know you too.

god i've missed the hc's so much. like i'm truly going back to my roots here. be honest did y'all miss the hc's too or was that just me????

#tana writes (∗´ ᨔ `∗)#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr #hsr x reader #dan heng x reader #dan heng x you #blade x you #aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #CHAT WE ARE SO BACK #jing yuan my pining king you will always be famous even if you got power-crept

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wndaswife · 1 year ago

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(fic request) pls write this w nun!wanda (if you want) 😵😵😵

to worship and submit | wanda maximoff & fem!reader

Being the daughter of the man that leads the church choir means attending the services when you run out of excuses to be anywhere else, but a young woman who's recently joined the parish to become a nun has begun to make your time there worthwhile.

Word count: 7419

Tags: smut, fluff, humour, sacrilege, quite literally fucking in front of a crucifix, even i feel slightly guilty for writing it, strap-ons, rough sex, spanking, slapping, spitting, degradation, praise, daddy kink, mentions of masturbation, sub!wanda maximoff, dom!reader | MINORS DNI

A/N: SO... i did do some research for this fic... but only SOME... meaning some of the info may be incorrect fyi!!!

gif credit to evilly

Every Sunday since your dad joined the church as their choir leader, you’d been making yourself busy in advance just in case he’d ask if you wanted to come to the services.

You were proud of your dad — really, you were — because he loved music and loved the community the church brought him, and the church was closeby to where your mom worked as an elementary school teacher, so your parents were able to work together when there were community events that involved both the school and the church.

Though, being happy for your dad didn’t mean you also had to be happy when he invited you to the services.

Sometimes you’d attend special occasions like Easter and other holidays and church events wherein your dad prepared his own assortment of music and such for the choir to play, but only because you were there to support him and what he was passionate about — music and community and his family.

Such events were big deals at the church he volunteered at because it was well-known for its large community; the church itself was closely connected to a nearby convent where it had close ties to the nunnery there, as well as having one of if not the most ornate architecture all preserved within a historically-significant religious landmark.

But for the last few weeks, he hadn’t asked you to go with him because he was so busy with the new influx of students joining from the Catholic elementary school your mom worked at; they were all there singing on the weekends for their volunteer hours, but at the very least, your dad said they were still enthusiastic and friendly kids.

So on the morning of one of the very rare occasions in which you hadn’t had anything planned for the Sunday because you weren’t expecting him to invite you as he hadn’t for the last while, your dad invited you to the service.

You could’ve truly made up an excuse and flat-out lied about being busy, but it’d been a while since he asked and you knew he’d been working hard with the new students in his group, so you supposed it wasn’t so much trouble to accept his offer, even if you did groan it out in a superficial fit about having to get out of bed earlier.

It wasn’t that you not being religious had anything major to do with avoiding going to church, because you didn’t entirely mind when your religious parents brought you to the services for special occasions, but rather because you didn’t very much have the patience or sufficient concern for the readings and worship to attend the nearly-two-hour services.

That was truly your most pressing issue with attending the Sunday services with your dad, but today was different, with an unexpected experience to make you dread going even more than you did previously.

“Excuse me?” a timid, unfamiliar voice chirped from behind you.

You turned to see a young woman standing by the doorway of the back hall where the entrance to the choir balcony was.

Typically, you sat around there when your dad was conducting because you weren’t very involved in the church enough to sit at the pews nor were you part of the choir.

But from where you were sitting, you weren’t entirely uninvolved as you could still see and hear the services — it was the perfect spot.

“You aren’t allowed to sit here,” the young woman told you, running the pads of her two fingers along the edge of her sleeve.

Her dark brown hair was neatly pulled back into a conservative bun and she was wearing a black plain dress with a modest plain scoop neckline to show the buttons and collar of the crisply-ironed long-sleeved white blouse underneath that all of the church’s nuns wore, but the simplicity of her outfit and the uncovering of her hair meant to you that she was presently studying at the church to become a nun.

“I’m the choir dude’s daughter,” you said with a polite smile and looked away, expecting for your response to be all the elaboration she needed.

In a way that was subtle with the intention not to be offensive but in that very manner was offensive in itself because of how irritating her caution was, the woman cleared her throat.

“I-I know,” she pressed, “but this area isn’t open for seating. For anyone.”

When you didn’t answer for a moment as you stared at her, she quickly said, “I’m sorry. They told me to tell you.”

“I’ll find a spot in the pews,” you answered and collected your things.

From the corner of your eye, it seemed that she wanted to offer a seating alternative just to make up for what she was forced to tell you, but there wasn’t very much else she could offer.

That Thursday, you were back at the church to pick up an ironed uniform for your dad; it was for a special event set for the upcoming Sunday, and the church pressed it for him and everything.

It was a nice gesture.

They were nice people.

On Thursdays, there were only morning services and events for children in another spacious room where they could colour and play with the church’s team leaders and nuns.

But in the afternoon — which it now was — there wasn’t anything going on.

When you arrived, the church was still and warm with gentle sunlight shining through the stained glass windows and casting a myriad of colours against the pews.

You looked over your dad’s text again and walked through the directions he told you to take to get to the back halls of the church, just a few turns from the stairway that led up to the choir balcony.

The room where you were to pick up the uniform was as pretty as the rest of the church; it was a small prayer room with a pedestal and stained windows and red carpeting, but it was much cozier and probably hadn’t been used for prayer for the group size it was designed for in a little while.

You could see through the glass door the folded uniform for your dad on the windowsill behind the pedestal with a name tag placed on top of it ready for pick-up along with a few other clothes for some other church volunteers.

Upon entry, you closed the door quietly behind you and stepped into the room where you could now see a small table by the window and a familiar young woman sitting with a notebook, jotting a few things down from what looked like a leather-bound book.

“Can I just get my dad’s uniform from there, or do I need to sign it off or something?” you asked, announcing your presence.

She looked up from the notebook and at you then to the uniforms on the windowsill.

“Oh, you’re…” She paused and thought for a moment. “The choir conductor’s daughter?”

“Yeah.”

“I can sign it off for you,” she replied and smiled.

She stood from the table and walked around it to the uniforms, where a piece of paper was set beside the line of neatly-folded clothes.

You watched as she jotted down a few things onto the paper with a pen before carefully picking up the packaged uniform and turning to hand it to you.

“Thank you,” you answered.

“Of course. Have a good day,” she replied and bid you a goodbye before heading back to the table by the window.

You were on the way to leave the room, but you couldn’t, for some odd reason, take your eyes away from the way she lowered herself into her seat and resumed her notetaking.

She didn’t notice when you changed your direction and walked towards the table she was sitting at until you were perhaps just a metre away from her, when she then looked up from her notes and up at you.

“Did I give you the wrong uniform?” she asked, worried and now standing up from her chair.

“No,” you answered quickly and waved your hand.

She stayed standing, curious as to why you walked back.

“Hard at work?” you asked, pointing at her notebook.

Confused for a moment, perhaps by your curiosity in speaking with her, she looked over to her notebook and then back at you with a friendly smile, “Yes, a little. They gave me something to study from. I’m just taking notes.”

Carefully, you reached forward and spun her notebook around so you could read it.

Her curiosity seemed to spike when you leaned forward to read her notes, and she looked at you with a small smile.

“Um,” she started awkwardly. “I want to apologise for earlier this week. For making you move seats.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” you replied and looked up from her notes to smile at her reassuringly. “I know they just made you tell me because you’re new.”

The young woman seemed reassured, her shoulders even relaxing a bit when you said it.

“You’re still… What do you call it? Like, you’re studying to be a nun here? Not fully one yet?”

She shook her head.

“Yes, I’m in the study period before becoming a novitiate,” she answered.

Your fingers ran over her delicate handwriting, feeling the indentations of her pen against the paper.

“To worship and submit,” you read aloud from the notebook. “Fascinating.”

She caught onto your twinge of sarcasm but approached it with humour, laughing a little and conceding, “It is a bit medieval, but an important quality, I’d presume.”

Reflecting suddenly on how young the woman seemed much younger than the other nuns, you asked her, “How old are you?”

“Twenty-four.”

She was a bit older than you, but still quite young.

Her hair was down now, though still neatly brushed and free of frizz and tucked behind her ears. She was wearing a white long-sleeved shirt and an ankle-length black skirt patterned lightly with gardenias.

“How did you get into wanting to be a nun, anyhow?” you asked and moved your attention away from the notebook and towards her. “You don’t seem like the type.”

“I-I don’t?” she inquired, almost sounding nervous at the implication that she wasn’t training herself properly.

“I mean, pious and submissive — sure,” you said, referring to her notes, which made her seem a bit flustered, “but not like a nun.”

She questioned curiously, “More like…?”

After humming aloud in thought, you turned to her with your hip laying against the edge of the table and suggested, “Elementary school teacher. Vet. I don’t know, something like that.”

She was pretty — truly.

Cute, even.

“When I was younger, I wanted to be a vet,” she told you, smiling sweetly.

“Changed your mind?”

“Younger as in quite young, perhaps around ten,” she recalled. “My parents are both rather religious and ever since I turned fourteen it’s always been their intention to have me join a congregation.”

Interest piqued, you asked, “And your intention for yourself was…?”

“For myself?” she repeated as if taken by surprise.

You nodded once.

She paused for a moment to hum thoughtfully before saying, “I was happy to follow whichever path my parents intended for me.”

“You find passion in nunnery?” you asked. “Genuine question — not judging.”

“Of course,” she answered.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you quickly checked it to see that your dad had messaged asking if you were able to pick up his uniform.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been holding you back from something,” the woman apologised and stepped to the side to allow you to leave.

Sliding your phone back into your pocket and adjusting your dad’s uniform in your hand, you replied, “No, not at all. My dad’s just impatient. I should get going now though, since here’s a few errands I have to run before noon.”

She nodded in understanding.

“It was nice being able to talk with you,” she then said. “I haven’t been able to talk with very many people since I came here. It’s all just been about studying and the church.”

Before you left, you made sure to ask for her name, to which she replied telling you it was ‘Wanda.’

Cute name.

It’d been quite a while since you ever attended the services two weeks in a row. The last you did was during the last half of August the first year your dad started conducting the church choir, during which you had nothing else to do but wait for classes to start — so you went to the services.

This time, because the church was celebrating something special, your dad asked both you and your mother to attend the service because he’d been working on preparing a set of songs for the occasion.

Under the guise of being a supportive daughter, your parents didn’t second guess why you were so willing to attend the service this week, nor did they ask if there was a certain individual you were perhaps a bit excited to see again.

Truthfully, you couldn’t stop thinking of Wanda since you last saw her a few days ago. There was much to her you felt laid dormant and sleeping, awakened only just in the slightest during the conversation you had with her. She was kind and curious, but also painfully naive.

She was a few years older than you but knew far less about the truth of her own ambitions and strayed perhaps not even a foot’s distance away from behind her parents’ shadows.

Wanda was interesting, but intrigued you for far too long for her to be only that. Though you couldn’t very well figure out what it was about her that made her bounce around in your head like a pinball until an unassuming evening.

It was sincerely an unrelated act when you first started, travelling your hand down between your legs in the silence of the evening to relieve yourself of the pent-up stress from classes that’d come over you during the last few days.

Truly, it was completely unrelated to Wanda and anything and everything about her when you started, and even during, until you reached your peak of release and found your imagination flashing with curiosities about what she looked like under her garments, how she’d squeal if you spanked her ass and if she’d like it, or how she’d cry out in sheer pleasure if you forced her down and made her take her spankings regardless.

For a moment afterwards there was guilt, but every day onwards there was curiosity, wondering for hours about what you’d seen when you reached that point of pleasure during which Wanda was your only muse.

You’d like to tell yourself it was only that curiosity that guided your willingness to attend the service with your parents, but it was something else entirely too — something completely carnal.

For the first hour of the service, Wanda was still nowhere to be seen. Because of the church’s connections with its convent, the nuns had a large role in some of the day-to-day happenings, but mostly during important church events like what you were presently attending.

Wanda wasn’t a nun yet; she was yet to be even a novitiate as she had mentioned, and so perhaps she just didn’t get to attend events like these.

Though you personally found that counter-productive, you weren't one to complain about the convent’s decisions, but you did wish you got to see Wanda.

If she wasn’t one to be able to attend such events, when would you see her next?

After coming to the realisation that you probably just weren’t going to see her today or perhaps even for a little while, you excused yourself after having been present for nearly all of your dad’s song arrangements and with enough time to be able to be back from the washroom with well-enough time to catch the rest of his songs.

To your surprise, you saw the very woman who’d been on your mind for the last hour was sitting in the hall by the stairway that led up to the choir balcony. She was wearing the same outfit as she had been the first time you met her, with her hair done up in the same way too.

“Excuse me, but you aren’t allowed to sit here,” you teased, approaching from the right and walking into the hallway.

She quickly swiped at her eyes and began to apologise before she raised her head and saw it was you who had spoken to her, and you who now stood beside the bench she was sitting on.

Though she smiled and seemed relieved and happy to see you, you could tell that she’d just been crying — alone in this hallway away from the service and the nuns and sitting at the far end of the bench so as not to be seen by the people attending the mass.

Wanda stood, running her palms down the sides of her dress with a friendly smile while saying, “You’re here.”

“Yeah,” you answered distractedly as you focused on the slight redness of her eyes and the tip of her nose.

You then asked once you were sure she’d been crying, “Are you okay?”

Suddenly feeling self-conscious after realising it must've been obvious that she’d been crying, Wanda carefully wiped under her eyes again and even tried making herself seem less dishevelled by tucking her hair behind her ears before you took her hands away from her face and made her stop fidgeting with her appearance.

“Seriously, what’s wrong?” you pressed.

Dismissively as to not bring any more attention to herself, she told you, “It’s really nothing. It’s nothing to bother you with.”

“I wanna be bothered,” you answered lightheartedly. “Come on.”

Wanda smiled at your gaiety and you urged her to tell you what was wrong once more before she finally exhaled in surrender though she didn’t sit down before speaking, implying that in spite of the fact of giving in to you, she wasn’t very well planning on delving too deep into what had been bothering her.

“Earlier today, I had accidentally misplaced the leather book I’d been studying from — the one you saw me with a few days prior, if you can remember,” she said. “And I was scolded terribly for it. It was quite deserving as it was an important collection of notes and such, so I do not question from where my scolding had come, but it seems to me that all I’ve done since I started here is get myself in trouble with the other nuns.”

Here, you tried taking her hand and urging her to sit down, but she wouldn’t, and slipped her fingers out of your hold.

“They found the book in one of the small prayer rooms I’d been studying in, so at the very least it was not a mistake of ruining the integrity of the book by losing it completely, but rather the very principle of having been given something so important and misplacing it,” she continued.

Wanda swallowed and seemed to be contemplating whether to go into more detail, and you could tell that there was something else that had been bothering her that didn’t exactly have to do with misplacing the book.

Before she had the chance to make a decision, there was a passerby who came from the service in search of the restrooms, which interrupted Wanda’s train of thought as she and the man exchanged a brief hello.

“We can go somewhere else,” you offered, taking her hand and heading down the hallway with her. She didn’t take her hand away from you this time, but instead told you that she only needed time to be on her own and that she was fine now.

The only other place you knew was the prayer room you picked your dad’s uniform up in, and fortunately it was unlocked.

You ushered Wanda into the room and she smiled at you from behind and you led her forward to one of the front seats in front of the altar, regarding you with admiration for the effort you put into wanting to express your concern for her and make sure she felt heard.

The early morning beams of light shone through the stained glass like they had that afternoon you’d come here a few days prior, but the room was far less stuffy now, familiar and almost reminiscent of something nostalgic.

The feeling could easily be because of the fact that you’d been envisioning what you could remember from it nearly every hour since that past Thursday, with the room in the background of your mental portrait of Wanda.

She settled down in the seat beside you, feeling encouraged more so because she wanted now to be closer to you rather than solely to sit and talk about what had been bothering her.

But she could partake in the latter if that was what you asked of her — and it was.

“I know that I hardly know you, but I’ve been here for nearly a whole month and you are the person I feel closest to,” she confessed.

You felt flattered, though you knew telling you that she felt close to you wasn’t exactly the point of why she said that.

Wanda further reflected aloud, “I’m getting nowhere I’m supposed to, not finding the call to God like both my parents and the nuns told me about though I have even given it plenty of time. I studied English in college and yet can find not even a little interest in my religious readings.”

While she thought in silence for a moment, you didn’t interrupt her.

When she found the words to verbalise what she’d been meaning to say, she began with a question: “Do you remember when you asked what my own intentions were for myself? On Thursday?”

You nodded.

“It’s ridiculous, but I can’t even recall the last time I sincerely asked that to myself, but perhaps in shallower terms, such as wondering where I might be in a few years or what I might do with my time in the convent.

“But never what I wanted — never who I wanted to be.”

After a moment, when you were sure she wasn’t trying to find words to express herself nor contemplating whether to say something, you asked, “And do you know who you want to be?”

For a brief moment — half of one, really — Wanda looked thoughtful, and then she said and gestured to her clothing and the prayer room, “Not this.”

“So then, what?” you inquired further.

You teased, “A vet?”

Wanda giggled and sat back a bit in her seat. “Perhaps if I were ten,” she said.

Then more seriously, she added, “But now, I’m not very sure.”

“How did you come to realise what you were interested in?” Wanda asked. “For example, your studies. What are you studying?”

She was talking fast, obviously very invested in your conversation together and also rather curious about you.

You thought that was cute; you liked Wanda.

“I’m studying philosophy,” you told her to which she straightened and was eager to hear more about. “But with studies, it’s different, because you’re talking about more personal matters. Academics are far different from personal paths.”

Wanda seemed a bit disappointed because she was looking for a definite answer, but what you explained certainly made sense to her.

She pondered about something then instead asked, “So about personal matters, then. What about those?”

“What about them?”

“Give me a principle to follow,” she sought. “Something I might be able to apply here. Something as general as you’d like it to be, but applicable.”

Her steadily growing smile made it clear that though she was certainly looking for advice, she also thoroughly enjoyed exchanging quips with you and exploring more about you.

In a way, she was as eager to learn about you than how to help herself, if not more so.

You hummed thoughtfully and Wanda watched as you were deep in thought.

“A principle for you,” you said, “could easily be that it’s okay to be selfish, to think only of yourself when you’ve spent so long doing anything else.”

Wanda asked, slightly amused but far more curious, “You recommend hedonism?”

“To you?”

She nodded.

You replied, “Indubitably.”

If you hadn’t already been thinking of Wanda in painfully great amounts before that morning, then you certainly were afterwards.

The third week came around and by then Wanda was banging against every square inch of your skull like an intruder, necessitating the need to be seen and thought of every other minute in any way you could.

Perhaps the relationship you developed with her thus far was one of friendship and nothing more, yet her persistence that never strayed too far from your mind seemed to you that she had become reminiscent of something greater than a platonic figure.

In any case, you had to muster the ability to ask your dad in the most nonchalant manner you could if it were possible for you attend Sunday’s service.

You did it in a way that did not make it seem to him that you were about to become a familiar face in the church, but rather that someone had simply happened to ask you for help during the last service and wondered if you might be able to attend the next — which is quite literally what you told him.

It wasn’t a lie.

Not even when you said that it was a young woman who was studying to become a novitiate at the convent that was curious about the choir and the other volunteers and had asked you about it last week, because Wanda did truly ask about the choir and the other people who volunteered at the church once.

But that wasn’t at all the reason why you wanted to attend the service that Sunday.

“Y/N,” a voice called in a hushed tone when you passed the hallway leading up to the choir stairway where your dad had already walked up towards.

You slipped away from the people filing into the pews and quickly came to Wanda’s side.

“Don’t you have places to be aside from fraternising with the guests?” you teased as she took your wrist and led you towards the room you both seemed to like talking in the most.

“After last week’s ordeal with the book, I’ve been put on some kind of probation from participating in the services so I have more time to study independently,” she told you, not seeming particularly worried.

She added, “On Sundays, the convent is rather empty, so they wouldn’t notice that I’m off not studying. Though I could very well say I chose to study in one of the extra prayer rooms here.”

“And I’m sure they remember how much you love the prayer rooms here,” you said, wiggling your eyebrows at your reference to her having lost the book in one of them.

Wanda faked a laugh in the driest manner you’d ever heard and you nudged her arm to which she told you to stop joking around with her so she could tell you something important.

She closed the prayer room door and sat you down beside her.

From a small bag on the chair to her left, she pulled out a small dictionary.

Here, you were tempted to make fun of her and ask why she was carrying around a dictionary so tiny, but you recalled that she had wanted to ask you about something serious.

She flipped open to a page she had bookmarked.

“Hedonism,” she read aloud. “In philosophy, the belief that pleasure and the absence of pain is the most important principle in determining the morality of an action.”

Wanda looked up at you from the dictionary. “This is what you meant?” she asked.

You nodded.

Curiously, you inquired, “Do you agree with it?”

She looked back down to the page in which had written three definitions of hedonism, the third being the one defined by philosophy.

The first two you could not quite read upside down.

“I have never heard of it in such detail before the time you mentioned it last week,” she said, running her eyes over the words in contemplation, “but it’s interesting.”

“What would be your first endeavour to pleasure, if you had to make a guess?” you asked her.

Wanda ran over the words of the definition again with her eyes, perhaps still deep in thought about it or absently doing so while she contemplated an answer to your question.

“My first?” she repeated.

You looked down at the dictionary page now that she was holding it at a slightly different angle that oriented the letters better for you.

The first definition read, ‘Pursuit of pleasure.’

And the second — you had to tip your head to the side a bit to decipher it — read, ‘Sensual self-indulgence.’

During your deep concentration, Wanda had come to an answer to your question, and it wasn’t until she leaned forward and kissed your unsuspecting lips that you realised she had even stopped looking at the page.

It was the uttering of her muffled words against your lips that triggered something deep within you, perhaps equally as restrained as her own.

An unfinished sentence, but one on its own nonetheless.

‘I want…’ she had uttered, breathless and with one hand cupping your cheek and feeling with the pads of her fingers the softness of your skin.

With that, you hastily reached forward and grasped at her ass, lifting her from her seat and stripping her down so she was in nothing but her undergarments.

The paths of your nails streaked red against her pale skin while you devoured her every step of the way, your lips following every inch of skin that became exposed to you while your hands made quick work of unzipping her dress and unbuttoning her blouse.

She sighed when you kissed her breasts and squeezed your hands around her waist and hips, taking her selfishly and finally spreading her legs and sitting her down in your lap.

“Are you…” you began between breaths, pausing to figure out your wording and sitting back in your seat to look at her. “Have you had sex?”

Wanda giggled, finding your question amusing. “Of course I have,” she replied and took your hands and placed them on her hips again.

“Cocky,” you jested, hooking your thumb under the clasp of her bra and releasing it so it snapped against her back, causing her to arch her body into you with a soft gasp. “Thought you might’ve been abstinent or something.”

“I don’t mean to be cocky,” she said in a low voice. “But I am certainly not abstinent.”

“Should I be jealous?”

“Only if you choose to be.”

“I choose to be,” you said with conviction. “So for whom should I be jealous, then?”

“College students.”

You gasped superficially.

“You fuck college students? Exclusively?”

“No!” she laughed. “I mean I haven’t been very active since my time in college.”

“Haven’t had sex since college?”

She corrected, “I didn’t mean that either.”

“So what did you mean?”

“This conversation is like pulling teeth.”

“Why? You want me to fuck you hard against this floor right now, baby?” you asked. The very crudeness of your words, albeit teasing, made Wanda’s breath hitch, and so within that reaction you found her first tell. “No foreplay or anything?”

“This isn’t foreplay?”

“Hardly.”

“Then what is?” she asked though sounding slightly pouty about it.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re all turned on and impatient from just that. Teasing gets you off?” you pressed. “Didn’t even have to be told how I wanna see your gorgeous ass bruise when I fuck your cunt from behind like you’re my sick little fucktoy whore?”

Her hips twitched.

“Y/N…” she muttered, perhaps out of impatience or forewarning for how you were teasing her, either way you could not tell and weren’t very rushed in trying to figure it out.

You pulled her bra down and released one of her breasts, slapping it lightly with your fingers and causing her to gasp before pinching one of her sensitive pink buds.

There would be no indulging her past what you were willing to indulge; you were careful not to touch her more than what was intentional.

You bucked your hips up under the guise of adjusting your seating, grinding your stiff cock against the soaking panties which were now beginning to soak your pants.

Her cunt was sensitive beyond the thin fabric, causing the strap to rub her perfectly through her soft, swollen folds; you could practically hear how sticky she was without even looking.

“What is that?” she quickly asked, looking down between her thighs. She tried moving back to get a better look, but you quickly held onto her hip with your other hand and pulled her harshly back to her original position, making her throbbing clit rub directly onto your cock.

A strangled yelp was breathed past her lips.

“Don’t move unless I tell you to, you understand?” you told her.

She nodded.

“Everywhere else in this building, there is only one God, but here in this room, I am yours. You will listen to what I tell you and take what I give you, even if it hurts. You’ll be grateful that I make you hurt as much as you will when I give you pleasure.”

In spite of everything, Wanda repressed a tiny smile and said, “You’re scary when you’re authoritative with me.”

You laughed through your nose and replied, “I can get scarier.”

Her smile widened into a grin and Wanda’s hand came to the back of your neck when you leaned forward and kissed her, one arm circling around her waist and carefully slipping her off your lap as you stood from your seat.

“We’ll get caught,” she voiced concern against your lips.

“Then be the lookout.”

You made sure she didn’t trip on her way up to the podium, and soon you had her chest laid flat against the lectern and facing the front doors, the shadow of the large crucifix behind the both of you casted against the red carpet from the morning sun shining from behind the stained glass.

Wanda listened as you unzipped your pants and when she made an attempt to turn her head and look at what you were doing, you put your other hand against her upper back and pressed her back down, reducing her line of sight to your face and shoulder and nothing else.

Her clothed cunt was prodded at, the stiff tip of your strap finding her hole through her panties and nudging at it teasingly. She groaned impatiently and reached back to take hold of your hand, to grab onto anything and urge you forward.

In response, you spanked her harshly and made Wanda yelp out in surprise and wince.

“You dirty, impatient slut,” you spat.

She immediately whimpered, “I’m sorry, daddy.”

That satisfied something in you that you hadn’t even known you wanted, and you were more than happy to share in that satisfaction.

You hummed and tucked a finger under the waistband of Wanda’s panties, making her twitch impatiently while also doing her best to listen to her orders. Then you laid your hand flat against her lower back, rubbing her supportively and making a warm flush form across her face.

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you, Wanda?” you asked, looking up her bent-over half-naked body to the back of her head.

She nodded.

“Good girl,” she confirmed with a nod.

Gently, you squeezed her ass and danced your fingers up to the waistband of her panties that you finally pulled down, exposing her gorgeous, glistening cunt.

It took just as much resistance from you not to shove your cock right into her as much as it took Wanda to not thrust her hips back and grind her clit against your strap.

“Why don’t you tell me all you’ve been studying about the last little while?” you said, running a hand down her ass and sliding a thumb into her pussy, feeling heaps of pride with the way you slipped inside with no resistance.

She was incredibly wet and so, so warm.

Distracted by the way your thumb probed shallowly at her hole, giving her just enough pleasure to make her throb but just short of enough to satisfy her entirely, it took Wanda a few moments to regain her focus before she finally asked, “S-Studying? About what?”

“You’re a smart girl, Wanda,” you encouraged, slowly sliding your thumb out and grazing the pad of it lightly over her swollen slit and across the hood of her clit. “Methods on how to be a proper nun. For example, swear yourself to the Lord, abstain from sex, so on and so forth.”

Wanda swallowed and tried her best to focus with the way your thumb began spreading her cunt out, revealing to you the glistening folds of her pussy. She began stuttering and finally squeezed her eyes shut hard enough to be able to recall some of her studies.

“Um, there was…” she uttered and ran her fingers along the edge of the wooden lectern, “living in modesty; not showing off one’s body in any crude manner, not partaking in pleasures of the flesh.”

Three of your fingers began rubbing slow circles against Wanda’s hole, squelching against her dripping cunt and making her tremble and moan shakily.

“And what next?” you asked.

“I-I can’t… Can’t focus…” she told you helplessly.

Your thumb flicked at her clit and Wanda’s body jerked forward.

“One more,” you urged. “Come on. Give me one more good one and I’ll fuck you with my cock. You want that, don’t you?”

Intentionally, you began to focus on her clit now, having your index finger graze it as your middle and ring finger slowly began delving in and out of her sticky hole, purposefully making it even more difficult for Wanda to find the words for herself.

“I want… I want that,” she shuddered, hanging her head and squeezed her eyes shut again.

“So, then, give me one more.”

Wanda’s breathing deepened as she tried her hardest to focus.

With every intention to make it more difficult for her, you reached up with your other hand and pulled her bra down, allowing you access to knead her breast and feel her nipple harden against the palm of your hand.

She whimpered into her arm and bit down on her bottom lip.

You stepped forward and removed your fingers from her cunt to rub the length of your strap through her pussy, wet fingers taking hold of its base and running it through her swollen folds.

“A-Ah, Y/N, please…” she mewled, though neither of you were quite sure whether she was begging for you to stop and allow her to think thoroughly or for you to have mercy on her completely and just fuck her.

“One more,” you reiterated and aligned the tip of your cock with her entrance.

You placed both hands on her hips and began pulling her backwards, fucking her shallowly and watching her pussy take your cock with just as much anticipation as Wanda was struggling to withhold.

She hugged around you beautifully and it was truly only the tip; you couldn’t wait another moment to fuck her until she was begging for you to fuck her until it hurt.

“A-Another,” she finally trembled out, “is to be, by nature, a woman of submission, to worship your God and seek no amount of personal domination over–”

Fully satisfied with her answer and terribly impatient yourself, your fingernails dug into Wanda’s hips and you jerked her ass back against you, forcing her to take your entire cock in one swift movement.

She cried out and you wrapped a hand around her waist, running your nails down her side and feeling an inexplicable need to mark her, to cause her pain, to reduce her to a whimpering trembling, bruised mess so cock-drunk that all she’d feel for the next three days is the aftermath of being rough-fucked like a slut.

“Hit me, please, daddy,” she begged, wrapping her fingers around the edge of the lectern and arching her back.

So you did — repeatedly.

You spanked Wanda over and over, having the sound of your palm meeting her ass echo through the room and only reiterating to the both of you how she was much less of a nun or a student or any reflection of purity, but a braindead nympho whore good for nothing but getting her pussy fucked raw.

She was a loud fuck, crying out in whimpers and moans and other strings of partially-comprehensible words telling you how good your cock felt and how much she loved getting fucked by you.

The playing organs and belting choir playing during the service muffled Wanda out, but Jesus Christ, if any of them out there had been able to hear her getting fucked down the hallway, they might just think for a moment that it was the calling of an angel or at least something in some way divine.

But none of them would ever know what it looked like to fuck Wanda from behind, pulling her up with their hand around her neck so you had access to slap her face and spit into her mouth like you could, pinching her clit and fucking her through to her third orgasm.

How beautiful she looked, sweaty and a mess with her long brown hair fanned out and stuck in strands against her back, crying out in equal parts pain and pleasure and finding herself incredibly pleased by being used like a filthy object.

And you’d make sure no one else could get the chance to see the sight but you.

“I’m gonna come again, Y/N,” she cried, breasts pressed against the cold wood of the lectern and arms pressed against her back. “This is my last, please, I can’t take anymore.”

You let go of her wrists and wrapped an arm around her waist, lifting her from the lectern. She was arched at a slight angle so your arm could assist in continuing to fuck her, but she was now much closer, and she was now able to loll her head back against your shoulder.

“This is the closest thing a slut like you will ever get to heaven, angel,” you told her, kissing her temple. “Make your God proud and come on my cock, filthy whore.”

Wanda reached back and held onto you for support while her eyes squeezed shut, her lips parting as a silent cry escaped her, her third and final orgasm coming over her without mercy.

You squeezed at her breast and leaned your head down and bit at her shoulder and up the back of her neck, getting in as many markings of your ownership as you could.

She sighed out and uttered your name, to which you ran your hands up her stomach, one hand moving up to her face and gently tilting her head over so you could kiss her lips.

Her knees buckled out and you carefully set her down on the floor before sitting down beside her. Wanda panted heavily into your chest, one hand on your knee and the other arm wrapped around your shoulder.

You had your arms around her waist, rubbing her back supportively and whispering in her ear words upon words of how beautiful she looked, how good she’d been for you, then soon confessing how much you’d been thinking of her over the last few weeks, how much of your mind she occupied and how much of your time you spent thinking of her.

Wanda liked hearing that last part most, but she particularly enjoyed when you told her how it felt to masturbate to her, to imagine her looking up at you and choking on your cock at your final point of release, and how really being with her was plenty more enjoyable and, quite frankly, more beautiful than you ever could’ve fantasised about on your own.

The both of you were on your knees, sweaty with the labour of sex and kneeling in each other’s arms at the foot of the towering crucifix, whispering and giggling to each other all the equally sweet and dirty confessions you could exchange before the service was over.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel smut #elizabeth olsen #heliumknife

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hermits-crab · 2 months ago

Text

FLUFF ALPHABET W/ ELLIOTT — STARDEW VALLEY

SUMMARY: The Fluff Alphabet by @snk-warriors featuring Elliott!

CONTAINS: sfw, gn! reader, fluff, established relationship, spoilers for his 10 & 14 heart event

NOTES: I haven’t known what types of headcanons to post so I’m hoping this might inspire me. I’m taking requests, by the way, if you’d like to help a girl out! Enjoy!

A = Activities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Elliott loves cooking and baking with his spouse! Even if you’re not great at it, he’s happy to teach you! As long as it’s edible, he’s happy and proud of what you made together. That phrase “a way to a man’s heart is through his stomach” applies to him specifically.

B = Beauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

It’s so hard for him to narrow it down but if he has to, it’s your generosity and strength. He could watch you do farm work for hours (and he has) and he loves that you’re so giving and that you don’t think twice about it.

C = Comfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

Elliott is at your side immediately, asking how and/or what he can do to help. If you ask for a minute alone, for example, he’s preparing your favorite snack and movie or show. Or maybe a bath or shower, later reading you to sleep. He’s doing whatever he can to help you!

D = Dreams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

He dreams of the typical white-picket fence dream: marriage, kids, growing old with you. More than that, he wants to take care of you, to protect you, to provide for you. As long as he knows he can do that for you, he can die happy.

E = Equal - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

I can see this going both ways. I feel like if you’re a woman or feminine presenting, he’s more likely to subconsciously take on a dominating role. If you’re a man or masculine presenting, the same still applies but less so. It’s not that he has sexist views! He was raised with these values in mind and it didn’t help that a lot of the media he consumed growing up portrayed a damsel in distress. If this makes you uncomfortable, you can tell him that and he’ll be much more mindful of how he treats you. Regardless of your gender, he’ll always be protective over you and that’s something you cannot change.

F = Fight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

Yes, without a doubt, yes. Even if you hurt him deeply, he’s already forgiven you long before. To quote James Fraser from Outlander because I feel like Elliott would think the same: "She asked forgiveness, and I gave it. But the truth is, I'd forgiven everything she'd done and everything she could do long before that day. For me, that was no choice. That was falling in love."

G = Gratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

He’s eternally grateful for everything you do. For him and for the community. You saved him from dying a lonely hermit on the beach! For that, he feels he owes you everything.

H = Honesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

He’s very open and honest! I don’t think he intentionally keeps secrets. Like with the piano, you didn’t know he could play so beautifully and he would probably not have brought it up unless you found him playing. Or if it didn’t come up in conversation, he probably won’t mention it. Except it’s something actually important, then you can trust he’ll tell you. But in that case, it probably wouldn’t be a secret.

I = Inspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

You’re his muse! You inspire him every single day. You helped him to write his book. He runs a lot of things by you because he knows that you’ll give him kind constructive criticism.

J = Jealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

I don’t think he gets jealous easily. He gets jealous like the average person. When he does, however, he becomes passively aggressive. If he notices someone flirting with you, he’ll politely remove you from them and gently scold you. He might be a little petty so you’re probably going to have to apologize a bit more than you normally would.

K = Kiss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

YUP. He’s a romantic and very in tune with his partner and what they like. Your first kiss with him was magical. He wasn’t clumsy or too rough. It was sweet and gentle.

L = Love Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

On a shabby little row boat out at sea!

M = Marriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

Yes! He feels it’s the natural next step to your relationship. He proposes to you on the beach while the sun sets. Your marriage would be pretty low-key but never lacking. Especially in the bedroom. You both are happy and content with your quiet lives on the farm. Whenever Elliott goes on a book tour, he brings you along, considering it a vacation.

N = Nicknames - What do they call their s/o?

Darling, love, dear, sweetheart, beautiful. He called you darling, love, and dear before but when you started dating, he added ‘my’ in front of it.

O = On Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

Elliott is pretty animated already but even more so when he’s in love. He’s much happier and carries himself more confidently (if you can believe it). I don’t think it’s obvious to anyone but his friends. Leah, for example, notices it almost immediately. He expresses his feelings through writing in his “secret book” of poems expressing his love for you or your likeness captured through a character in one of his books.

P = PDA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

Yes, he’s very proud to be yours! He doesn’t necessarily brag but he talks about you whenever he’s given the chance. He’s not shy about physical PDA either. Of course, nothing inappropriate but definitely touching you in some way or kissing you. He’s not in the least bit shy!

Q = Quirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

Elliott is a very smooth talker. He almost always knows exactly what to say. And I know that would otherwise be a red flag but he does stumble over his words frequently too! He never wants to risk loosing you, especially over something that’s his fault.

R = Romance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

He’s extremely romantic! He’ll happily help you around the farm and later take care of you when you come home: making dinner, bathing you, massaging you. He also loves reciting poetry to you whenever you’ll listen.

S = Support - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

You can count on him for any sort of support you need and he’ll gladly help you work towards your goal(s). He has always believed in you.

T = Thrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice up your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

He doesn’t feel like it’s a necessity. He likes adventure on occasion but he’s also very happy and content with your daily routine.

U = Understanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

He’s very empathetic towards you. He’s good at remembering details about you too, regardless of how insignificant it may seem. He remembers what you like and don’t like, things you’ve mentioned that you want, or little stories from your past.

V = Value - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

He values your relationship the most out of everything he has! He’ll always put you (and your shared family) first. He loves you more than writing and reading—and that’s saying a lot.

W = Wild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

Elliott absolutely hates when people touch his hair. But you’re the only exception. Even though he may tense up a bit at first, he eventually melts into your touch. He trusts you with his life, and more than that, his hair.

X = XOXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

He’s super affectionate! He loves touching you, whether that’s through hugs, hand-holding, cuddling, or kissing. He takes any chance he gets to tell/show just how much he adores you!

Y = Yearning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

When he went away on his book tour, he took to sending you letters. He also called you at the end of every day. He prefers to call rather to text because he wants to hear your voice.

Z = Zeal - Are they willing to go to great lenghts for the relationship? If so, what kind?

Absolutely! Anything you need—or want, even. You can always count on him. He’d pet a sea cucumber if it’d make you happy.

— HAVE A REQUEST? SUMBIT IT HERE! • READ MORE

#🦀 hermit-headcanons #sdv elliott #stardew valley #sdv #stardew elliott #sdv bachelors #fluff alphabet #fluff

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whateverisbeautiful · 5 months ago

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This might be a stretch but I’d love to see your take on Rick and Lori’s relationship. I have many conversations online with others but everyone thinks differently when I make post, majority believe one thing but for the most part it amazes me what people say. Questions like…..would Rick have actually left Lori or would he have stuck things out for the sake of keeping his family together. Would he have still pursued Michonne ? If so how soon do you think it would have happened? Would Lori try to ruin Rick moving on with someone ? Would she even care ? Anyways I love your Reveling in Richonne and wanted to know your opinions 🤷🏽‍♀️

Thanks for this @richonnelovers4life 💗 These are good questions. And I'd love to hear your take on them too. Something I am forever convinced of is that Richonne is inevitable. So no matter how the early TWD circumstances shifted, I firmly believe Rick and Michonne were bound to meet and they were bound to be in love.

With the type of soulmates Rick and Michonne are, Cupid was simply not going to miss with those two. Even in Rick’s dreams, Cupid had an undefeated run. 😋

As for the rest of the questions, I wrote out my take on them right here ⬇️:

#1: Would Rick have actually left Lori or would he have stuck things out for the sake of keeping his family together?

Just like I think Rick and Michonne falling in love was inevitable, I think Rick and Lori splitting up was inevitable too, apocalypse or not. They just weren’t each other's person and deep down they both knew it long before the world ended.

I think had Lori survived that day at the prison, she and Rick would have been living about as divorced as could be, but with their struggle to communicate, I could see them both tiptoeing around finally outright making the call to end the marriage.

I think Rick, especially after Lori had the baby, would of course still feel very responsible for looking out for her and the baby and so it would be hard for him to directly end the relationship even if they were sleeping in different cells and communicating more like coworkers because they mentally left the marriage already.

And I used to think Lori would then pull the trigger for them and she'd officially end the marriage so that Rick didn’t have to. But now that I’ve gone back and noticed more of how she was often so vague and flip-floppy in expressing what she wanted and also would not prefer to raise her newborn without a husband (even if it was the husband she wasn’t in love with) I think she wouldn’t take the initiative to end it either.

I think what would finally prompt them to officially end the marriage would be Carl.

I think his parents' whole divorced-but-not state would take a toll on Carl and as blunt of a kid as he used to be back then I think he’d notice and maybe even call them out on it, wanting them to make a definitive decision either way. And the second Rick realized that ‘staying together’ unhappy was more damaging to Carl than just splitting up, I think he would officially end the marriage. And I think Lori would agree it was the right thing to do.

#2: Would Rick have still pursued Michonne? If so how soon do you think it would have happened?

Absolutely. 👌🏽 Rick would still be captivated by Michonne, still eventually pursue her, and they’d still fall in love. If Lori lived and let's say most other events around that time stayed the same with Michonne showing up to the prison - I really believe Rick and Michonne’s journey still plays out in a mostly similar way and similar timeline to how it did in TWD.

I think their love story would be a slow burn just like it was in the show because, depending on when Rick and Lori end it (which I think would be sooner rather than later), Rick still would be the type of guy who moved at a more slow and steady pace when it comes to his romantic pursuit. And Michonne would still need time to open that part of her heart up after losing Mike and Andre.

(Your question also made me wonder what would happen if it was reversed and Lori still didn't survive but Mike and Andre did. If Michonne, Mike, and Andre showed up to the prison post-Lori I'm curious what people predict would happen. It's harder for me to predict exactly how that would play out since we were shown much less of Michonne and Mike's dynamic. But from the things we do know about them, I think Michonne and Mike would still split too. And Michonne and Rick would fall for each other no matter what. Even tho I am 100% confident Rick and Michonne would only actively pursue each other once they were both single because Richonne is respectful and has integrity)

Some friends and I have had conversations about this scenario where Lori lives as well, and I know one argument someone made was that Michonne bonding with Carl was a big thing that brought her and Rick closer and they might not bond the same if Carl still has his mom in his life.

However, my take is that, while elements of it would be different with Lori still present, I actually think Michonne and Carl still would form their tight-knit bond. Because while Michonne wouldn’t be meeting a motherless Carl, she would be meeting a Carl whose parents either divorced or were on the brink of it and so he’d still be in need of the friendship and care he found with Michonne.

And Rick being extremely attracted to Michonne inside and out, along with appreciating her and Carl’s bond would lead to events playing out similar to how they did in TWD. But again, all this would happen only once he and Lori had officially called things off. Because, unlike their former partners, Rick and Michonne are extremely loyal and devoted people so neither of them would allow for overlap.

However, once Rick was single, he would still be checking Michonne out all the time, still finding reasons to take her on runs with him, and I’m sure all those little flirting moments between them would still be there as well. Which leads to question #3.

#3: Would Lori try to ruin Rick moving on with someone? Would she even care?

I think Lori would most definitely notice the unique effect Michonne had on Rick and she’d see how Michonne brings out a fresh, improved, and more alive man in him. While I think she might feel miffed that she didn’t get to experience this version of Rick, I don’t think she would go out of her way to try to ruin things - and emphasis on try since any attempts at stopping Richonne from happening would be futile - because, at the end of the day, she wasn't happy being with Rick and didn't want him and vice versa. And I think every passing day would make that clearer to them both.

So when he moved on, I don’t think she’d care from a place of still wishing to be with him/work things out. If anything she’d just care and feel some type of way that all that stuff she didn't feel she got from him - communication, passion, etc. - he was now giving to Michonne with ease, and that Michonne was pretty effortlessly getting the group's ‘First Lady’ position that Lori seemed to covet. Either way, whatever care she had about Rick moving on wouldn't be about Rick I don’t think.

The area where I think Lori would actually care and feel intimidated is again when it came to Carl’s bond with Michonne. Had she survived, I think seeing Carl respect, confide in, and gravitate toward Michonne would have made her feel a bit insecure as a mom.

And then she might feel threatened that Michonne’s obvious organic connection with Rick meant that Michonne would inevitably become Carl’s stepmom and they'd build a family unit that she might be envious of.

So basically, Lori would probably want what Rick and Michonne had but not with Rick. And I think if a man who was her type had joined the group and she liked him, Lori would move on too, and even quicker than Rick possibly. Because Rick would be trying to be respectful during the initial post-divorce period, all the while still looking at Michonne like a whole meal until he and Michonne finally and - using my Word of the Day in this post - inevitably made their romance official. 😊

#richonne #reflecting on richonne #thanks for these questions 😊#asks & answers

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pleasure-as-a-means-of-survival · 1 month ago

Text

The Daddycest 18+ Discord Server held a secret santa event this year for the holidays! It opened November 20th for sign ups, and pairs were assigned November 30th for everyone to start creating! Each person was given a "wish list" from their partner, and the gifters got to work to have everything cranked out for the deadlines between December 20th through the 31st! Everyone was given the option to either write, or draw - whichever they were most comfortable with! Without further ado~

Masterlist

☆

Fan Fictions:

"Wincestielmas" by @nuturalsuper

Castiel/Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester

Sam and Castiel decide to make Dean celebrate Christmas with them this year, it turns into a threesome…

☆

"Lukewarm truths at Blackwater" by @crowleysmistress

Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester

The night before going up to Blackwater Ridge to help the Collins with the Wendigo, Sam & Dean communicate some hard truths about their past, John W and about how they see the trip and what each expects to do in the future.

☆

"'Til Death" by @samanddean76

Dean Winchester/John Winchester

John goes on a hunt. Shit goes sideways. He comes back to his Omega a changed and slightly undead Alpha. That's when it gets really crazy…

☆

"Daddy's Boy" by @leafzelindor

Sam Winchester/John Winchester , Dean Winchester/John Winchester

Sam has decided that he wants what Dean has. Dad's attention. He wants it bad. He wants those hands on him. He wants to feel skin on skin. Now he doesn't have to wait any longer.

☆

"Like A Girl" by @boywifesammy2

Dean Winchester/John Winchester/Sam Winchester

Sam comes home from school pent-up and frustrated from a week of being caged up. He convinces Dean to take care of him, but John isn't happy to come home and see that Deanna disobeyed orders and gave into Sam's pleading. After all, how will Samantha ever learn to act right if Deanna keeps letting her think she's a boy?

☆

"Imitation of a Perfect Soul" by @gappyswife

Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester

☆

"Oh! Darling" by @deafsamwinchester

Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester

little sammy isn't so little anymore, is he?

☆

"An Honest Conversation" by @brotherscain

Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester

The first time it happens, it’s an accident. Sam’s been poking around some of the dusty tomes in the bunker, tells himself his sudden curiosity has nothing to do with missing Dean. Staying up, researching until delirium sweeps him under. Sam could attribute it to any number of spells and incantations without the slightest clue of how to fix it back.

☆

"Safe and Sound" by @vampirejohn

Dean Winchester/John Winchester

Discord Server exclusive - no link

☆

"Laptop Desires" by @cheshireimpala1967

Sam Winchester/laptop!Dean Winchester

Discord Server exclusive - no link

Fan Arts:

"Bonding Time" by @pumpcidraws

Jack Kline/Sam Winchester

☆

"Judgement" by @winchesters-and-roses

Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester

And that's a wrap for Secret Santa in the Discord Server! Thank y'all so much for creating these wonderful pieces for one another! I am so thankful to be in with such an amazingly talented and creative group of people - you knocked it out of the park 🎉 Happy New Year!

#daddycest discord server secret santa 2024 #wincest #johndean #deanjohn #john winchester #spn #daddycest #spn discord #dean winchester #samjohn #spn ao3 #daddycest discord server

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silviakundera · 7 months ago

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The Princess Royal ep 35 comments

So the writers made a signifucant change here, with having a traumatized, pregnant Li Rong decide to hide the revelation of the past from Pei Wenxuan instead of just having a complete breakdown in his arms.

The adaption has actually been overall shockingly novel complaint (it may be streamlined and less able to communicate complex character dynamics but on the whole the major events all track and tons of dialogue is lifted from the novel)... so I find myself curious about the few big deviations.

Why do I think they made this choice?

Suspense: the desire to create a conflict & tension btw our leads, because by this period in the story they are so on sync and united in purpose that I think the screenwriter is worried that it's too bland (if we recall The Double, some viewers felt a certain malaise with that couple at the end because they just supported each other w no conflict & drama).

No sex : in the novel they fuck about it; not gonna happen here. With all that stripped away, all of the emotional conflicts & resulting catharsis are happening between other characters in the last chapters. So what to do?

Mirrored behavior: I think perhaps we are intended to see a comparison in how SRQ didn't want to tell LR this secret out of protection for her mental health. He would rather be the villian to her who killed her for a blood feud, than see her face the truth. He originally wanted to "fix everything" without her having to know. SRQ is LR's foil. So I can see how perhaps drama writers thought it would be a plausible reaction for LR hide this from PWX and try to "fix it" behind his back, so his hands are clean and HE didn't betray the crown prince. In the drama as she is doing this, her voice over literally thinks that the only person she can trust is PWX. She just wants to keep him out of it. And then says some stuff in temporary anger when they fight about it.

So how do I feel about the change? While I do prefer the novel version, I guess I can agree it's a plausible scenario in the drama - because the drama's streamlining has reduced the emphasis on LR and SRQ standing on opposite sides politically. In the novel, frankly I do not see her joining w SRQ's camp for even 10 minutes. It just wouldn't happen. At this point, sure she knows he means well but they fundamentally disagree on what is the right path for the country. Even a panicking & broken novel!LR wouldn't be tempted to let a puppet Li Cheng take the throne.

But if I keep an open mind, I can see how in the live action version this might seem like a plausible stop-gap measure for LR and then she thinks she can recover and course correct after. I don't agree with the writing choice but I don't HATE it.

I'll be honest - It's hard for me to judge her too harshly for her immediate reactions in either novel or drama because her lament is just TOO SAD. I know she's far from a perfect person, but it really hurts my heart.

novel snippets of her soliloquy:

"Li Rong, let yourself go."

These words were like a heavy hammer hitting Li Rong, shattering her heart abruptly. She wanted to fight back, to retort, but in the end, it only became a rhetorical question, "If I let myself go, who will let me go?"

"No one has spared me!"

When these words came out, she could no longer restrain the pain she had been trying so hard to contain, "Everyone is using me, Chuan'er doesn't believe me and killed me, Shangguan Ya and Su Rongqing watched me die. Pei Wenxuan," Li Rong grabbed Pei Wenxuan's sleeve as she stared at him with tearful eyes, "how do you want me to let myself go?"

"No one believes me, you all think I'm bad, that I'm selfish, that I'm power-hungry, that I'm unscrupulous, that I won't think of any of you."

"So Li Chuan wants to kill me, Shangguan Ya wants me dead, Su Rongqing watches me drink the poison and says nothing, and even you," Li Rong tugged at his shirt with a deadly grip, "do you also think that I'm pushing you now? That I'm slandering your feelings, that I'm suffering so I'm making you suffer too?"

Pei Wenxuan froze, Li Rong lowered her head, she restrained herself, she tried to calm herself down a little.

She had hurt too many people, everyone had abandoned her, she wanted to be kinder to Pei Wenxuan, she shouldn't have indulged herself.

"I didn't."

She sounded dumb, "I just want to, to be nice to you. I want to be nice to everyone, but I can't do anything right."

"I don't talk well, I'm too dictatorial, I'm like a hedgehog, and anyone who sees me thinks I'm bad. I can't even, when I try to like you, do it well."

"I've done so much for Chuan'er," she said as tears poured down her eyes, "but he still doesn't believe me."

"I fought like that for a' Ya and Chuan'er, and a'Ya still gave up on me for the slightest risk."

"I'd gone to so much trouble to keep Su Rongqing, but I still can't live in his heart, he hasn't even given me a little trust."

"I'm not forcing you, I really just want to be good to you, I don't know what to do, I just want you to not suffer a little in front of me. But I still can't do it right."

"I'm sorry ......" she tilted her head to look at him and said it over and over again, "I'm sorry ......"

Pei Wenxuan did not say anything, he looked at Li Rong in front of him, she no longer had any semblance of decorum to speak of. The most wretched thing in life, he's afraid, is her now. Even when he met her in prison, she was fully clothed and tied up, her posture was calm.

"...That was the last life, I can ignore it, but just because I don't care, doesn't mean I don't care."

"One has to hold the power to have a choice. And when you gain power, it shouldn't be mixed with feelings. I used to talk about liking power, but in fact when I made decisions, I always put a lot more trust in them and was willing to fight for them. So when I came up, I always thought of helping Chuan'er, solving his present problems for him, his future problems."

"My mother scolded me, saying that I was thinking all these things. That the emperor thought of me as a princess, and that in the eyes of the future emperor, I was no different in nature from the noble lineage. I thought she was silly at the time, but now I realise that it was me who was silly."

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

I think what's truly horrible, what traumatizes her so deeply, is that this was a long process. LR and PWX remember her descent into chronic illness! How she wasted away as PWX brought her doctors to try to save her. Her brother didn't kill her in 1 momentary act of rage & paranoia. He decided over and over again that she must die and he killed her THROUGH THE GAMES THEY PLAYED TOGETHER. Poisoning the weiqi pieces. All of what she thought were private family moments were the tools of her slow murder.

While the confrontation scene she has together w Li Chuan in the novel was sincerely beautiful and literally made me cry... I SO GET her initial repulsion and urge to walk away.

[side note: I can empathize on 1 thing with SRQ - feeling he had no choice but to watch this cruel betrayal and hating himself & hating Li Chuan more and more as he watches what's happening to her... no wonder, considering what also happened to his family, he thinks of Li Chuan as a monster who must be stopped. Like, I'm not in his side at all because the nobles are fucked. But I do think his beliefs about Li Chuan are like the most normal thing about him. I also see why SRQ hates himself (cause he should) - and why he is increasingly distressed as he sees Li Rong prove in this life how little he understood her and much he underestimated her inner goodness & also her bond with PWX. All the reasons he thought he couldn't risk saving her in the 1st life were wrong. So of course this only makes him hate & resent LC more.]

#cdrama #the princess royal #the princess royal spoilers #the grand princess #meta #cdrama meta

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sammysmaddy · 1 year ago

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Confessions (Dean x Reader)

Summary: When Y/N starts having some odd feelings, she turns to her religion to find the answers.

Pairing(s): Priest!Dean x Reader

Warning(s): dubcon, dark!dean, coercion, innocent!reader, religious/Christian themes, masturbation, manipulation, thoughts of p in v + creampie

W/C: 3.3k+

A/N: Short (for me) and sweet.

Masterlist

Dean had a love-hate relationship when confessions rolled around. He loved it because it was interesting to him quite frankly. He hated it because he enjoyed it for all the wrong reasons.

Dean enjoyed listening to people's problems, especially church members whom he rarely had the chance to converse personally with. He liked knowing what plagued their minds, and how they thought about the issues that they ran into. It brought Dean comfort to be reminded that he was not the only person who was a little messed up.

Dean himself confessed often too. Every week he would confess that he enjoyed listening to other people's confessions, and it soon turned into an endless cycle. He always confessed his sins, committed them afterward, and then confessed again.

It wasn't very often that Dean spent less than an hour in that tiny box, but today was different. Nobody showed up. Not his regulars who came in every single week- not even his regulars who asked to confess multiple times a day.

After thirty minutes or so, Dean decided that it was appropriate to lock the shop up. He stood up, straightened the creases in his pants, and went to open the door.

Dean was surprised to see Y/N sitting on the bench just in front of the confession box. When their eyes met, it was clear to Dean that Y/N was just as surprised- only in a much different way.

"I'm so sorry, Father Dean," Y/N looked up at Dean with wide eyes, very similar to that of a deer in front of headlights.

"Sorry for what, Y/N?" Dean could tell she was scared, so he did his best to ask her softly. He wanted her to feel that she could come to him for any reason.

"I've just been sitting here," Y/N raked her fingernails up and down her arm, looking down as she answered.

"And what's so wrong with sitting here? Not comfortable enough?" Dean chuckled as he stepped a bit closer to the young girl.

"Because I haven't confessed yet. I can't bring myself to do it." Y/N sighed, looking at Dean as he decided to take a seat next to her.

"Are you scared?" Dean asked though it wasn't necessary, and she nodded her head. "When I was your age, I had a hard time going to confessions too."

"Really?" She asked, her eyebrows furrowed.

"Of course," Dean replied, finding a small amount of humor in her shocked expression. "I haven't met a single person who hasn't been nervous at least once before confessions."

Y/N nodded her head slowly as Dean clasped his hands in his lap. He watched her face as it calculated his words, and wondered to himself what was going on through her brain.

Quiet was the only word that came to mind when Dean thought about Y/N. He knew her father and though Dean considered him a decent man, Dean knew how hard he was on her. It was something that her father always mentioned in confessions because he felt guilty for being so strict.

Y/N was very clearly affected by this. Even though she was an adult, she always listened to her parents, she got good grades at her community college, and she always attended church and all of its events. When she went to confession, she very rarely had anything to say. The worst Dean had heard from her was that she stayed out five minutes later than her father's predetermined curfew.

With that in mind, Dean was dying to know what she was planning to confess to him today.

"Do you want to talk about it, Y/N?" Dean asked and watched as she contemplated his offer. "If it makes you feel better, I can go back into the box and you can join me."

Nodding her head at the proposal, Dean stood up. Y/N followed suit as Dean got into the box, closing the door behind him whilst he waited for her to get settled on the other side.

"Whenever you're ready, Y/N. There's no need to rush." Dean did his best to comfort her, empathizing with the fact that sometimes big confessions weren't so easy.

"Thank you, Father," Y/N hummed quietly. After a few seconds, she spoke up again, "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been one week since my last confession."

"Would you like to start with a prayer?" Dean asked and once she answered, they preyed together for a few minutes before beginning.

"I don't know how to say this," Y/N admitted once she began.

"Well, luckily for you, that's pretty normal," Dean comforted her. "Oftentimes our thoughts are hard to put into words, but I'm here to guide you. What's on your mind?"

"I've been feeling... weird. I don't even know how to explain it." Y/N went quiet again. It was as if she were too afraid to say the wrong thing.

"Would you mind describing the feeling to me?"

"It's been happening for a while now. At first, it only happened at night when I tried to fall asleep, but now it's happening throughout the day." Y/N explained and Dean nodded to himself.

"How long would you say you've had this feeling?"

"A few months probably,"

"And when you get this feeling, does it make you feel bad?" Dean questioned. He combed through his thoughts, not even close to sure what she could possibly be talking about.

"Sort of," Y/N answered before taking a few seconds to think. "I think it feels good, but I feel guilty because it feels like sinning."

"What are you thinking of when you get these feelings?" Arching his brow as he pondered, Dean seemed to be at a complete loss. At first, his mind went to dark places, but then he remembered who he was talking to.

"Everything, really. Mostly classmates but sometimes also church members. It depends on the day."

"So, when you think of these people, what do you think?"

"I think about..." Y/N paused, seemingly too afraid to admit her thoughts. "I think about being with them."

"Oh," Dean answered softly. "Well, that's okay, Y/N. It's not uncommon for people your age to begin wondering who they will marry eventually."

"I don't think about marrying them, Father," Y/N sounded down as she spoke.

"What do you think about then?" Dean blindly asked.

"I think about them touching me," Y/N hesitated, sighing uncomfortably through her admission.

"Touching you how?" Dean's eyes went wide as his expression remained soft. Never in a million years did Dean think Y/N could ever be capable of thoughts like that.

"Just... touching me. I don't know how to explain it." Y/N reiterated.

Dean didn't know why his body reacted the way it did, but he could almost instantly feel his cock stir to life. He cursed at himself under his breath, knowing how inappropriate the timing was.

It wasn't that Dean didn't find her attractive, because she was quite frankly one of the most objectively beautiful people that Dean had ever seen. It was that Dean had never seen her in that way. In his mind, she was like a family member to him, so it was confusing to feel what he was feeling at that moment.

"Have I done something wrong, Father?" Y/N asked after a few moments of silence.

"No, no, of course not," Dean cleared his throat as he straightened up in his seat. "I just needed a few moments to process."

"Oh, okay," Y/N sounded discouraged as Dean tried his best to think of what to say.

"So, when you think of others touching you, how do you imagine they touch you?" Dean asked for clarity, again cursing himself at the reaction it caused in his boxers.

"Like, just rubbing my arm or maybe running their fingers through my hair. I know how weird it sounds."

"It's not weird at all, Y/N." Dean sighed in relief, grateful that he wouldn't be having the uncomfortable conversation he originally thought would unfold. "What is the feeling that you have?"

"I feel butterflies in my stomach," Y/N answered. "I never thought it was a real thing, I thought it was just something that happened in the movies."

"Is it only certain people who give you these butterflies?" Dean inquired.

"Yes. It happens a lot when I think about Tommy. And when I think about Mike. And John. And sometimes even you." Y/N took a brief pause as Dean's eyes nearly fell out of his head. "I don't know why it feels so bad to enjoy these thoughts. It feels like I'm doing something wrong."

"I don't think it's a bad thing to feel, and maybe you're mistaking those butterflies for comfort," Dean explained, thinking of an example to give her. "It brings me comfort to think of embracing my loved ones."

"I don't think it's comfort, Father. It feels uncomfortable when it happens."

"But you enjoy the feeling?" Dean probed, realizing that maybe he didn't understand. Y/N hummed her agreeance. "What part of it makes you feel uncomfortable?"

"Because it's not only in my stomach," She answered.

Dean's face scrunched in confusion before his mouth dropped, finally registering her words. Feeling a pulse, his body reacted more and more to her words. He used his palm to press down on his steadily growing erection, hoping to suppress the untimely pleasure that he was experiencing.

"Father Dean?" Y/N questioned and Dean realized that he, once again, forgot to reply.

"Sorry, Y/N," Dean cleared his throat again.

Sighing as he softly placed his head back against the thin wall, Dean realized that the palm pressed against his crotch was doing the exact opposite of what it was meant to. He couldn't believe how good it felt to touch himself, regardless of whether or not that was what he intended to do.

"Where else is this feeling?" Dean felt half guilty for asking but soon justified that it was only part of his job to ask.

"It's lower... I don't want to say where." Y/N was clearly too embarrassed to clarify.

"This feeling is actually quite normal, Y/N," Dean reassured the young girl, shutting his eyes tight as his erection only grew. "It happens to almost every single one of us. In fact, it usually happens to others a lot younger than it happened to you."

"Really?" Y/N chuckled softly in relief. "I thought I was the only one."

"Definitely not," Dean nodded his head.

Dean removed his hand that was pressed against his aching member, deciding it was best to leave it alone. But after a few moments of no pressure, it was almost too painful to leave alone. Dean hadn't felt this way in a very long time. He felt like an unfortunately horny teenage boy about to give a presentation to his class.

"How do I fix it?" Y/N asked as Dean dealt with his own demons. "I've tried to stop thinking about it, but I just can't. I don't know what to do."

"Have you tried focusing on something else?" Dean asked as he decided that it was too overbearing to leave himself untouched. He reasoned that he was only touching himself so that he could continue to do his job properly and that he wasn't going to get off with Y/N next door.

"Yes, Father. But now I think about it all of the time. It's like a sickness that I just can't shake off."

Dean could obviously relate to her, especially when he considered that this was the first time she was experiencing being horny.

"And when it makes you uncomfortable, how do you help yourself?" Dean was in uncharted waters.

He had never had this conversation with a woman during confession and wasn't entirely sure what to say. Usually, he'd tell the young men going through puberty to sort themselves out and they'd understand, but he knew that it could sometimes be more complicated for women.

"I sometimes try to touch myself but I feel... gross," Y/N hesitated, sounding disappointed in herself.

"How do you feel gross?" Dean asked, his cock now screaming to be taken out of his boxers.

"I just feel dirty, Father. Like I am evil for enjoying it." She admitted.

Dean realized that he was unconsciously rubbing his palm over his cock and that he was only making it worse.

"Have you ever... gotten off?" Dean wasn't sure why he asked.

It was like all of his impulsive thoughts had taken over his mind and body. As Dean mindlessly did his best to unbutton his pants, he went back and forth between feeling guilty and reasoning with his actions.

"I don't know how," Y/N answered after a few seconds, causing Dean's entire body to shiver.

Dean's body confused him as he impulsively thought of Y/N touching herself. He had never once imagined her in this situation, much less even thought of her in a sexual manner, so he wasn't quite sure why she was eliciting this reaction from him.

"Have you ever actually tried before?" Dean was no longer justifying himself in his mind.

His hand had a mind of its own and all feelings of guilt were pushed aside as he reached into his boxers, fully prepared to ask Y/N whatever he needed to in order to get off.

"I always start and then I stop. It feels like God is watching me." Dean could practically feel her regret as he slowly stroked his cock.

"What do you do when you touch yourself?" Dean continued to stroke his throbbing member as slowly as he could so that she wouldn't be able to hear him.

"I usually start by feeling myself through my clothes," Y/N admitted with little resistance. "And I've tried touching down there but... I can't do it."

"What's stopping you? Because it makes you feel gross?" Dean probed, swallowing the lump in his throat as he looked down at his rock-solid member. Y/N hummed in agreeance.

Dean knew that he should have ended the session as soon as he got a hard-on. He knew that it wasn't too late to end it even now but for whatever twisted reason, he didn't want to. Plus, again, to justify his actions, Y/N clearly needed help.

"Well," Dean hesitated, knowing how incredibly immoral his next sentence was going to be. "Why don't you try it with somebody you trust?"

"Like you, Father?" Y/N inquired and Dean felt his heart race.

"I can try to make you feel more comfortable experiencing those thoughts. Then you can go home and try to finish the job." Dean stroked his cock a bit faster, still trying his best to be as quiet as possible.

"Right now?" Y/N questioned again and Dean did his best to fight back a groan at the sound of her voice.

"If you want," Dean placed the ball in her court, hoping that she would agree. He figured she had no idea how screwed up his request was.

"Oh- okay," Y/N hesitated before answering.

"Are you ready?" Dean asked, going slower with his hand. Y/N purred a positive reply as Dean heard her shift around. "I want you to close your eyes and think about somebody touching you."

"Mhm," Y/N answered, before continuing on. "Can I... can I imagine you?"

It took Dean by surprise and further instilled his belief that she had no idea how wrong this was. Dean figured that her father must have never taught her about sex. The idea of Y/N going home to touch herself at the thought of Dean made him nearly burst.

"Of course," Dean threw his head back, biting his lip as he choked on a moan. "Now, where am I touching you?" Dean asked, feeling as his proximity to finishing got closer.

"All over, Father Dean," Y/N answered in a hushed voice.

"More specific, Y/N," Dean directed her on.

"You're touching my breasts," Y/N replied and Dean's cock throbbed in his hand in return.

"And how does that make you feel?"

"It makes me feel really good," She hummed.

Dean could sense that she was getting more comfortable as they continued talking, and Dean wasn't about to stop now anyway.

"And if I were to start touching you lower, how would that make you feel?" Dean stroked his cock faster, not sure how much longer he could take without climaxing.

"I think it would feel good," Y/N answered.

Y/N obviously wasn't very experienced and the somewhat naive state that she was in seemed to turn Dean on even more. He wanted to be the first to show her the ropes, but he didn't want to scare her away or reveal their secrets to the church.

As much as Dean wanted to take her right then and there, he knew he had to be smart about it. Dean knew he would have to take his time with Y/N because not only did she deserve that, he also couldn't afford to lose his job.

"Why don't you go home with that, and come see me again in my office soon? We will work through this and I will help you through every single step of the way." Dean wanted to sound reassuring to ensure that Y/N would go and find him later.

"Yes, of course, Father Dean," Y/N complied. "Thank you so much."

As far as Dean could tell, she sounded excited or perhaps more hopeful than she was when the session started. However, Dean was fully aware that it could be the product of his horny mind distorting her tone into a more positive one.

Dean sat still for a second, waiting to hear her leave the confession box. Once he heard the door open and close, he began to pump himself in his hand again.

Dean had never given the time of day to think about Y/N in this manner. Now that he was, the thought of touching her all over made him feel incredibly horny.

He imagined grabbing Y/N's breasts as she described, then dipping his fingers into her panties only to find a warm, wet cunt. Dean imagined the sounds she would make- how it would take all of his efforts not to cum just by the sound of her whines.

Dean could practically feel how tight she would be and could even hear the noises that he imagined she would make once he finally buried himself inside of her. He wrapped his hand even tighter around his cock, trying to replicate the feeling of her slick walls around him.

He then imagined what she would sound like when she called his name and wondered if she would be loud or quiet when he began to slam himself inside of her. Dean thought that she'd try to be quiet at first, as she was often a very reserved woman, but he figured that he would have her screaming after only a few seconds.

Imagining watching himself slide into her over and over again, Dean then pictured himself using his free thumb to rub soft circles over her clit. He then began to feel the way that Y/N's body reacted to his touch, clenching around him as she got closer to her own climax.

As Dean continued to iron out the details with his eyes closed, he replayed the scene of Y/N cumming all over his cock over and over again, wanting to cum in sync with her.

When Dean finally figured out exactly how he wanted Y/N to sound and imagined her wrapping her legs around his body, pulling him even deeper, he felt the band inside of him finally snap.

Dean swallowed his moans, tensing his entire body as he continued to pump himself feverishly. As he rode out his climax, he imagined slowly pumping into her as they both came, kissing one another passionately in his mind as they began to feel a euphoria wash over them.

Whilst Dean recuperated from the most intense orgasm he'd experienced in a while, he laid his head against the wall. All he could think about was how excited he was to begin his newfound journey with Y/N.

•••

Tag List ❤️

@hobby27 @writethelifeyouwant @deeranger

#supernatural #fanfic #spn #spnfamily #darkfic #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #priest!dean #preacher!dean #Dean #Dean x Reader

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whumpbug · 8 months ago

Note

If you're still doing prompts for your guys...

How about used as bait? Make of that what you will! I would love to learn more about your OCs :D

-- @whumperofworlds

thank you very much for the prompt!!! i must say, i've never really written anything like this but omg. being used as bait/its a trap/kidnapping is truly an underrated trope, at least on this blog

i know i said i wouldn't write hurt/no comfort but HEAR ME OUT. this isnt no comfort. its SUSPENSE. i will most likely be writing a part 2 for this during the whumperless whump event so TRUST ME these boys will get comforted.

also bear with me, writing whumper stuff/situations like this isn't my strong suit and i feel like there are definitely plot holes at certain points.. (-｡-;)

onto the fic!

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

This was just Simon’s luck.

He really should be used to getting himself into these situations. This was the second time in only two months that he’d been harassed by Archie’s enemies.

They have just.. never taken it this far before. He’d never been kidnapped before.

Simon was starting to worry. From the way his arms were tied behind him, it was getting hard to take a full breath. He needed to force himself to calm down. Hyperventilating would only make things worse. He needed to analyze the situation at hand.

He was bound to a chair in the middle of a dusty, abandoned warehouse.

Well, at least, he thinks it’s a warehouse.

Truthfully, he’d been blindfolded and gagged since they shoved him into the back of the van and sped away from the city.

He only assumed it was a warehouse from the way the doors sounded as they were being opened and the echo of the chair being dragged toward him. Also, the air around him felt vacant and cold. It smelled of wet cement.

Also, there was the matter of his restraints. Sure, the rope around his wrists were itchy and his back was beginning to ache from the angle he was forced to sit at, but he silently chose to count his blessings.

His captors hadn’t hurt him, save for the initial bonk on the head to subdue him. No, he was relatively unscathed, which was.. odd.

Usually the lackeys tried to beat information about Archie out of him, to no avail of course. He found it strange that no one had come around to yell at him or intimidate him with half-empty threats. In fact, Simon was fairly sure he was completely alone in the building. He hadn’t heard the shuffling and breathing of bodies around him since they first tied him up. The whole situation was abnormal.

Still, he needed to focus on a way out, and therein lies the reason he was beginning to panic. When the guys first knocked him out, they took his phone, wallet, and every accessory he had on him, including the emergency signal bracelet he had to communicate with Archie.

Without it, Archie had no way of knowing where he was or that he was even in trouble. Considering the time of night, Archie would be on patrol. There was at least a chance that he’d get injured enough to pay a visit to Simon’s apartment, but even that could take hours.

Hours Simon wasn’t sure he had.

What game were these guys trying to play?

If they wanted information, they weren’t doing a very good job of getting it. If they wanted to kill him, they surely would have done so already. What was their goal?

Just when Simon was almost sure they had forgotten about him, the sound of a metal door scraping open reverberated throughout the building. He heard slow, deliberate footsteps make their way towards him, and then felt a calloused hand yank off his blindfold. He squinted.

The man bent at the waist to meet Simon’s gaze. “Rise and shine.”

His breath was uncomfortably warm, and if Simon could have told him to give him some personal space, he would have. Instead, he narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, someone doesn’t seem too happy,” The man sing-songed, harshly grabbing Simon by the chin and forcing his gaze up. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you. Not yet, at least.”

Simon swallowed convulsively against the gag.

“You’re probably wondering what we all plan on doing to you,” He said, motioning to the door off to the side of the building. Simon could only assume that that was where the rest of the men that kidnapped him were.

“Well, patience is a virtue, my friend. I promise that all will be answered. But until then, if you wish to see this through with your life, you’ll have to do a little something for me.” He explained, thumbing saliva away from where it was pooling down Simon’s chin.

He glared. We’ll see about that.

The man pulled out a camera.

“I have a guy on the inside, who will feed whatever I want directly into Vigil’s not-so-secret little broadcast channel. As soon as he knows his precious nurse is in trouble, he’ll come for you right away,” he chirped. “All I need from you is a video proving your wellbeing, just so the brat knows we haven’t killed you yet and knows to tread carefully. You’ll do that, won’t you?”

Simon blinked.

Did he really think he and his 4 other cronies would be able to handle a pissed-off Archie? Simon didn’t notice any of the tell-tale signs that they were hopped up on enhancers, so for all intents and purposes, it was just.. five regular humans against one livid superhuman.

Simon stifled a snort.

If a video was what the man wanted, a video was what he would get! He was practically giving Simon the keys to his freedom!

The man pointed his camera at Simon and grinned.

“All you have to say is that you’re uninjured, and that if he doesn’t come within one hour, that won’t remain the case. Nothing more, nothing less, got it?”

The man reached around Simon’s head and pulled off the gag, to which Simon gasped for air. He shot a glare at him, and saw the camera light flick on. He cleared his throat.

“Oh Vigil. Oh please come save me. I am uninjured and terrified and these men will hurt me if you are not here in one hour. Whatever will I do without my knight in shining armor,” He deadpanned, tone dripping in sarcasm. He hoped Archie would appreciate his joke.

The man scowled and replaced the gag, taking extra care to tie it even tighter, and disappeared into the side room. Simon was alone once again.

God, no one told him being kidnapped would be so boring.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there. It could have been three minutes, it could have been thirty, but he felt a pang of relief when he heard a window breaking from outside.

Finally. Things could get moving.

He saw Archie’s blonde hair peeking over the sill of one of the high windows, and a soft smile spread across his face. Not that he had any doubt, but it felt nice to know someone would always come to rescue him.

When Archie pulled himself up and over, landing on the cement floor in a low crouch, Simon saw it.

Resting in the slit of the door he had seen earlier, was the end of a rifle.

It was with a sickening lurch of his stomach that Simon realized this whole thing was a trap.

Looking back, he had no idea how he hadn’t noticed earlier. Why else would they be trying to draw Archie to them?

He saw Archie rear up for a fight. He jerked against the restraints in the chair, but it was no use. Simon tried to scream. He tried to warn him, tell him to turn back and go, but no words would make it past the gag.

He watched as the tranquilizer dart stuck Archie right in the neck.

Archie froze. He locked eyes with Simon as if confirming his worst fears. Simon’s heart sank.

He saw Archie take a step. Then another, this one more unsteady. Finally, Archie’s eyes rolled back in his head and his knees buckled as he dropped into a heap on the cold floor.

When Simon saw the captors approach his body with boxes of medical instruments, he could only be silently grateful that Archie wasn’t awake to see the size of the needles.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

#this was fun!!! but also hard to write #i didnt realize how many things you had to keep track of in a kidnapping scene #the next part will be more focused on the whump and less about the situation so stay tuned for that ;)#whump #whumpblr #prompt fill #kidnapping tw #whump fic #whumper #whumpee #simon and archie

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pkmnirlevents · 6 months ago

Note

How do you go about getting ideas for arcs? I’m struggling to figure out what I want to do with my character :(

Great question! This happens to be one of my absolute favorite parts of writing and pkmn irl itself. I've always been more of an ideas guy myself. I hope you don't mind but I decided to turn this into a bit of an overall tutorial for planning and writing arcs. Feel free to ask for any specifics because I could delve into my personal process for arc brainstorming, but I was admittedly writing this before getting ready for work and this post was getting kinda long haha

Knowing where to draw inspiration from can be a good place to start. It's wonderful to be inspired by music, a movie or tv show, a book, or even other people in the community and their writing. Ask yourself what elements of that thing draw you in. What do you like? What would you maybe do differently? I must mention though to be respectful of the work other blogs have put into their writing. Being inspired is a wonderful thing, lifting exact details or passages is not. If you're unsure, there's no harm is asking!

The most helpful thing I can tell you right off the bat is that you want to find out how to brainstorm. In schools they'll often try to teach you ways of brainstorming and outlining to structure your essay writing, if you're lucky they might even mention that there are multiple ways you can do this. The ones in school never worked for me personally, so for a long time I assumed brainstorming and outlining was a complete waste of my time and would launch straight into my writing drafts. But as I wanted to write more complex things and I wanted to indulge in more creative writing, I found myself getting stuck all the time. The truth is brainstorming is a helpful tool, but you have to know what type of brainstorming works best for you. Flowcharts, bullet points, stream of consciousness, word clouds, moodboards, drawings, whatever it is that gets your creative juices flowing. In my experience it works best to remember that not every one of these elements will make it into the final arc. You want to get your ideas down first and trim the excess later. I personally pay for a program (Milanote) that allows me to brainstorm in the methods that work best for me, but by no means do you have to pay for a program to do this. Pen and paper works just fine.

The next thing you wanna do is establish what you want your arc to do. Not every arc has to be a grand character development, but all arcs do something. No matter how small that something may be, something has to change as a result. Maybe your character meets a new person, obtains a new Pokemon, gets a new scar and a story to tell their friends, or maybe all they got was a t-shirt. If you already had a loose concept for your arc this can help you hone it. You can start asking yourself, "how does my character reach this point?" and work up to that. Map out what you think your character would do when dropped into a particular situation. This can also help you to establish the tone you want your arc to take. Is it silly and lighthearted or is it more serious and high stakes? Refer to the stakes tag post about proper tagging.

It can help to conceptualize your arc as a series of events rather than a single event. This allows you to understand how many posts you may need to split the arc up into, how much time the arc may take, or other hard to sort details.

These things ramp up when you start to incorporate more people into your arcs. Planning with your fellow writers is extremely important and that requires a lot of communication. Some writers prefer to do what we call pre-writing, which is typically you and the other writers get together and write out the posts in advance. This gives people the chance to look over each other's writing and make edits before the posts go live. Planning discords are useful for keeping things organized, but google docs or other collaborative writing programs can work just as well if those better suit your needs. Organize who is posting what and generally at what time, especially if the post involves other people's characters.

Remember all of this is for fun! These are not hard rules you need to follow. You should not force yourself to write things you do not like for the sake of others or for an imagined audience. Write what you want to write.

#mod sneasel #pkmn irl #pokeblogging #pkmnirl #rotomblr #starting resources #long post #arc writing #not sponsored in any way mentioning milanote its just good for me #i like that i can combine visuals like moodboards and doodles and my weird bulletpoint flowchart nonsense #i create a horrific amalgamation but the important thing is i know how to read it #inbox #writing advice

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kittywhoo · 1 month ago

Text

Match up exchange, for.. @archive-of-the-lost ‘love is in the air event’!

-Your match is.. Rin Itoshi!!-

Letters: ~D, E, J, L, N, O, R, T, V, W~

D - Dates (What kind of dates would they take you on?)

I feel like you and Rin would both love arcade dates! At first, Rin probably wouldn’t care if you two went to the arcade, however, after a while and he gets super invested! Rins competitive streak would kick in and makes it surprisingly fun for him! I think whoever wins depends mostly on skill, since you two both have good luck!

For more of a casual date, i could imagine you 2 going on a shopping trip to the mall! i believe Rin would act annoyed at first, but, he would secretly enjoy spending time (which he would never admit openly, but you can tell) with you as you browse clothing items, or look for crocheted flowers!

E - Expression (The one little thing they do that shows how much they love you)

This ones quiet specific, i think if you couldn’t finish your food, or get served a food you dont like, Rin would eat it for you no problem 😭, without even saying anything too, just completely a non verbal understanding between you two.

One other thing, if you really wanted to watch a horror movie/play a horror game for whatever reason, but your were to scared too, Rin would be more than willing to watch it with you, and offer you emotional support! (to the best of his capabilities)

J - Jealousy (Are they likely to get jealous? What do they do when they feel jealous?) (+protectiveness)

I think rin would more of a quiet jealous. I dont really see him communicating his feelings, but you would most definitely tell when hes feeling jealous, (maybe even bring you in for a close hug in-front of whoever’s making him jealous. With a few harsh glares)

Other than that than that, i think Rin would mostly feel protectiveness and a need to defend you rather than jealousy (which is why i added an extra) for an example!: a classmate is harassing you, calling you ‘lucky’ and not a hard worker when test results are out and your found out to be a top scorer, as your not confrontational, Rin would in a heartbeat step up to your defense, and scare away anyone who tries to bother you,

2. he would also blatantly tell anyone boring you with small talk, who just wont seem too leave, to go away.

L - Love languages (their main giving love language(s). which love language do they struggle with giving the most?)

Rin would give you acts of service to you the most, ex: tying your shoe, communicating for you when your not comfortable to do so, walk you home if you’re tired of always waiting on others/taking care of others, esc

As kind of a middle ground, i think quality time is something thats average, not too much, not too little. Rin is busy with blue lock and soccer, but that doesn’t mean he wont make time for you!

Im guessing Rin will struggle the most with words of affirmation in the beginning of your relationship, but would slowly get better in that aspect as time goes on, however, more deep into your relationship, Rin would recuperate physical touch the least. (Which might work best for you two)

N - Names (What are their nicknames/pet names for you?)

Princess, Ruara

O - Open up (Are they vulnerable with you? How long does it take for them to open up with you?

For the most part, i think that Rin would take a long time for him to truly open up, if you can get Rin to have more objectives than soccer, and defeating his brother Sae, than yes! But that will be relatively difficult, and a task of its own. Im thinking upwards of ~1year. Its not completely impossible tho, which is the good thing! If you have patience and understanding for Rin, you’ll without a doubt succeed in making him open up!

R - Revelations (What did they learn about themselves after getting into a relationship with you?)

Rin would learn to be more patient, as much as you two value your future and goals, i think you would teach Rin that soccor and beating his brother is not everything, and its also important to take a break, so in short, Rin would be less up tight because of you. I could also see Rin being overall more softer, not only with you, but also with his team mates, maybe even give them a complement or two!

T - Thoughts (What do they think about you? What's the quality they like the most about you?)

Rin would be comforted with you, with how you can tell engaging stories, and your eq, i can imagine you calming down Rin when hes having a mental break down, (cough cough because of Sae) this is definitely one of the things Rin appreciates about you! (I think Rin would also appreciate if you help him with academics)

I can also imagine Rin being with a s/o whos more closed in, and is not influenced alot by others, especially with social media. I think Rin also enjoy your deadpan sense of humor, and finds it refreshing to hear!

W - Win (What do they do to win you over? Courting behavior, basically)

I think he might bribe you with your favorite foods, a compliment, or maybe even some cute accessories!

Ok so again, i didnt realize to finished this in about a day, so please dont feel rushed to finish my match up,

this took me so long 😭, i hope you like it tho! I tried to incorporate everything you told me. Sorry if it seems short!

Thanks! Dm for any questions! 💕💕

#blue lock #blue lock matchup #blue lock x reader #rin itoshi x reader

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iwantjaketosullyme · 2 years ago

Text

𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭

➺ pairing: aged up!neteyam x omatikaya!reader (angst) ➺ summary: 'and i say your name in hopes you'll hear it in the stars' (w/c: 1.7k) ➺ warnings: death, grieving, hurt (not rlly any comfort), reader is a lil unhinged?? a/n: loosely inspired by mitski's 'carry me out' so go listen to that, cry a lil bit then come back nd cry some more :( kind of a long drabble, na'vi dictionary at the end !!

─────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

Every night, you return to the rock on which he died.

His rock. It is where you feel closest to him. Everybody else seems to find solace in the fleeting moments spent with a version of him at Ranteng Utralti, where he is Neteyam and simultaneously, not Neteyam. A cruel merging of both his pure spirit, innocent to his own death and an extension of your memories of him.

You, on the other hand, are too preoccupied with lamenting over the new memories with him that cannot be made – there were parts of Neteyam you were yet to discover, parts of him even he was yet to discover. You mourn not only what once was, but also what never was and never will be.

For Kiri, he is the protective pseudo-twin that effortlessly intimidates the skxawng that dared to tease her for her extra finger, by virtue of the squaring of his shoulders and the furrow of his brow. The white knight she never asked for, but would always appreciate.

For Lo’ak, he is the all-encompassing security of the known world made flesh and bone. A constant. Constant companion, constant rival, constant scapegoat. As a young boy he pinned all his hopes and dreams on Neteyam, nearly idolising his brother, the mighty warrior.

As he grew in both stature and teenage angst, he began to pin his anger at the world that did not understand him and refused to accept him onto Neteyam too.

As he watched the body of his brother sink to the bottom of the ocean floor, the innermost part of him whispered that all that he had pinned over the years grew and grew until it was what tied the metaphorical rock to Neteyam’s ankle, ensuring his fate below the sea’s surface and amongst the ancestors.

Even Kiri, the resident empath, does not understand when you admit your aversion to visiting him at the spirit tree. That version of him is ever close, but ever out of your reach. What she does understand, is when you confide in her that you think the sea yearns for the sky as you do for your yawne.

When the roaring waves crashing against one another almost make it look as if the sea has grown limbs, extending its appendages in an effort to grasp at the elusive sky. Equally near as it is far.

It is here, on this solid rock that you make your peace with the truth. Cold, hard and unmoving, like this rock. You lay in the same position as the last version of him you came to know; a young man stripped of his cognizance, relieved of his typical reservations and nobility, finally expressing his heart’s desire. To go home.

Moved by raw emotion, you compress the length of your form against the boulder, rough surface digging into your back the same way it would have pressed into his – you long to feel his pain. You stretch your arms out beside you, feel the grooves formed by an unknown number of years of erosion. Erosion caused by the sea. The sea gives, and the sea takes.

Each night, you slip away from the communal meal, running from the sympathetic looks of concerned clan members, or the softly – but firmly – spoken sage words of wisdom from Neytiri intended to comfort you. But only you know what comforts you best.

Each night, you run your palms over the jagged edges of his rock and find a new crater within it that you had not noticed before. With each new trace of the same surface you remind yourself of the events of that night, explore another possibility of how it could have ended, what you could have done differently.

It was on that night that you learnt of the cruelty within the Great Mother’s just nature. Of course, you would never dare to question her, for you knew of the love she held for each and every one of her children. This would not, however, fill the gaping hole in your heart that Neteyam had made his place of permanent residence.

It would not remedy the odd lightness you felt on your right shoulder in the dead of night, your body yearning for the familiar weight of his weary head as he finally rests after a long day of protecting everyone but himself. Whispers his grievances into the crook of your neck, secrets he could never fathom telling anyone else. Eternally the saviour with no complaints.

It has been a little over four weeks since you lost your life’s love to the waters around you, and thus the customary mourning period has come to an end. With your knowledge of this comes the realisation that you can no longer grieve your loss so openly anymore; up until this point you had been merely going through the motions of your daily duties. Physically present, but neither mentally nor emotionally – behaviour most unlike you.

Like most in the Omatikaya clan, you were not left unscarred by the Sky People’s greed, be it from the events of the Great War nearly two decades ago, or their recent resurgence in the forest, and so grief was not an entirely alien concept.

With a community of people as close as yours is, was (you must remind yourself that you are no longer a tsmuke of the Omatikaya but of the Metkayina now), it was near enough impossible not to have lost a loved one. You had come to understand that there was no one way of grieving.

That did not, however, prepare you for what you feel currently. Your previous battles with grief had caused a hot anger to sear through your being, fuelling your hatred for the tawtute impostors and renewing your thirst for vengeance. You had cried, dried your tears and ploughed on. This time could not have been any more different for you. This time, yours was a fossilised kind of sadness.

No matter how understanding the Sullys are of your shared grief, with every interaction you have with them you feel obliged to remove the dark veil of your heavy countenance for their sake. Sometimes, when your sense of hurt pushes your thoughts to be more callous than empathetic, you wonder why exactly everybody else is able to move on but you cannot.

Is it because Jake and Neytiri still have three other children to nurture and watch flourish? Because Lo’ak, Kiri and Tuk will still have each other? Neteyam was, is still your one and only. As the man intended to be your mate, he was the sole reason why you had even relocated to Awa’atlu with the Sully family. Without him you do not yet know quite how to live.

When your thoughts are more rational and the fog of despair lifts momentarily, you can see the way it still affects them. You hear it every time Neytiri speaks, a gravity present in her voice that was not before – an echo of the keening wail of a newly bereft mother.

You see it in the quiet, steely glint of determination in Jake’s gaze when he has his secret meetings with Tonowari. Where Lo’ak’s nonchalant nature would previously have meant he skives from training in favour of a deep sea swim with Payakan, now he is always first to arrive at the section of the shoreline dedicated to training and last to leave. You know, undoubtedly, another war is coming.

Until then, you will cling to the sanctuary that this rock offers you. Here, you are free to bear the burden of your grief without shame. Carry the weight of it, feel its pressure, let it mould you into a misshapen form no different to the rock you lay on, hunched shoulders and weary back. As you lay back, you allow the gentle waves to lap over you.

You cannot help but wonder what Neteyam must have been thinking when he was laid out here. Did he know that he would be leaving you like this? A small part of you hopes that the coaxing tide will drag you out to sea, beyond the reef, down, down, down into your watery grave so that your body can finally rest, surrounded by the sea anemones. Surrounded by Neteyam.

Gazing up into the night, you give your thoughts the freedom to take shape; twist and turn as they so wish. You imagine them being made physical before your eyes that are glazed over with unshed tears. You will them to float skywards, beyond the cover of night, up, up, up above the ether to reach the stars that hold your beloved. Silent prayers to the still night’s sky.

A small rock pierces the atmosphere, crossing the sky’s black canvas with speed swifter than a palulukan in pursuit and velocity greater than an ikran flying into battle. Lost in thought, you nearly miss the sight of the shooting star, white hot rock cutting through an obsidian sky. An auspicious symbol.

In your eager attempt not to lose sight of it you sit up abruptly, nearly keeling over as you stretch your neck to gaze up towards the sky. You manage to keep it in your visage, panic rising when it crosses over into your peripheral. Wasting no time, you crawl over, scurrying on all fours to the other end of the rock, from which it is perfectly in your eyeline.

Incensed, your arms that are now grazed by the harsh edges of rock stretch out towards the star until you can feel a dull ache in the joint that connects it to your torso. Entire body extended, you open your palms wide to their full span, clutching at the fiery rock before clamping your fingers so tightly together, you can feel the skin pulling tautly over bone.

The gesture is a physical confirmation of your understanding of this phenomenon ordained by Eywa, a promise to her that you will listen. A promise to Neteyam that you will live.

You strengthen your grip on this promise and tuck it away in your heart, in the space that Neteyam used to reside in. Rolling over, you ground yourself, leaning your back against the rock. His rock. He was your rock.

─────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

na’vi dictionary

ranteng utralti - the spirit tree // skxawng - idiot // yawne - beloved // tsmuke - sister // tawtute - sky person, sky people // palulukan - thanator // ikran - banshee

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