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submattsmxmmy · 17 hours ago

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roughdom!stepbro!chris x bratty!stepsis!reader

🖤 content warning: 🖤 smut, stepsibling kink, jealousy, posessiveness, praise/degradation, nipple play, oral(f!receiving), rough sex, forbidden love, fluff at the end

🖤 summary: 🖤 chris throws a party while your parents are out of town without telling you, and you get revenge on him by wearing your sluttiest outfit and dangling yourself in front of his friends

hiiii, it's @ariestrxsh, and this is my second account ! if you're not into stepcest, that's totally fine. don't like? don't read. sorry, mom. sorry, god. and sorry, chris sturniolo, if you ever read this depraved piece of writing.

dividers by @/strangergraphics

holdyourbreath

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 |

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," you mumbled under your breath as your tires rolled to a stop in front of your house. You'd just gotten off a double at the local diner you worked at, and now that it was nearly 10 p.m., you wanted nothing more than to take a hot shower and go to bed.

However, the loud music that was coming from your living room and the several parked cars on your street indicated to you that that wasn't happening any time soon. Of course, Chris had decided to throw a party while your parents were out of town. You shouldn't have expected anything less.

You rolled your eyes and cut the engine, slamming your car door once you got out. A bunch of Chris' friends were wandering in and out of the front door as you approached your home. "Excuse me," you said with an attitude as you pushed past a few men who were blocking the entry way.

As soon as you set foot in your living room, you could smell the weed wafting through the air. You started immediately looking for your stepbrother so you could give him a piece of your mind and ask him what the hell he was thinking.

You recognized some of the people at the party from Chris' friend group, and you immediately braced yourself when Chris' asshole best friend, Jackson, approached you. You could tell that he'd always been into you, and each time he interacted with you, he got more desperate.

"Hey, it's been a while. Can I grab you a drink?" He asked, looking you up and down and clearly trying to hit on you. You scoffed and gave him a tight lipped smile. "You know, I'm really not in the mood right now. I worked a double today, and Chris kind of threw this party without telling me."

"Come on, let me get you a drink, and we can go somewhere more private and talk. You just need to relax a little," Jackson said, pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. Oh yeah, just relax. That's a woman's favorite thing to be told to do. Must be such a ladies man, you sarcastically thought to yourself.

"Get me a drink, and I'll throw it in your face," you retorted, swatting his hand away and narrowing your gaze at him. You had half a mind to tell him that if Chris ever found out that he was trying to get into your pants, he'd be dead, but after that little relax comment, you decided it'd be more fun to not even mention it and let him dig himself into a hole.

By the time you'd reached the kitchen, you were fuming. Your entire house was a mess, trash and empty bottles of alcohol littering nearly every surface. Your eyes danced over to some boy lighting up a joint in the corner or the room, and you snapped.

"Hey! You can't smoke in here!" You exclaimed, approaching him and pulling the joint out of his mouth. You tucked it behind your own lips as you barged out your backdoor in search of Chris.

That's when you saw him - your annoying, cocky, and deplorable older stepbrother who was shot gunning a tall can of beer while a group of people stood around him, cheering him on. You took a long drag from the joint you'd just confiscated and glared in his direction, thinking about what idiots college boys were when they all got together.

As if he could feel your angry stare, he turned around to face you, his eyes lighting up as he did. "Hey, sis. Bet you're glad to be done with work. I see you're already having fun, huh?" He asked, walking towards you and motioning towards the joint you held between your two fingers.

"No, I took this away from some moron who was lighting up in our house! I just took a couple hits for your sake so I don't fucking kill you," you snarked at Chris. "Woah. You really know how to have a good time," Chris sarcastically chuckled.

"We need to talk," you said through clenched teeth, grabbing his arm as you dragged him to a secluded spot on the side of your house. "What? You can't even wait until we get upstairs before you jump on me?" Chris teased you, smirking, which earned another eye roll from you.

"Chris! What the hell are you doing!? You know mom and dad are gonna be able to smell the weed your fucking friend lit up?" You responded with anger. "C'mon, they're not gonna find out," Chris replied, softly brushing his thumb against your cheek. "They're gone until Monday night. I'll air out the house tomorrow, hmm?" He said calmly and sweetly, looking into your eyes.

"Chris.. I was hoping we could have the house to ourselves tonight," you told him, pouting as you laid your hand seductively on his chest. "I had a really bad day. I was hoping you could make it better." Chris smirked at you, knowing how badly you were fiending for him despite being upset about coming home to some dumb party you never would've agreed to.

"Don't worry. We'll make plenty of time for that. Hell, I'll fuck you nice and hard upstairs right now if ya want," Chris cooed, leaning in as he took the joint from you and took a drag from it. "With all these people here? What if someone sees us go upstairs together?" You wondered, glancing around to make sure no one was within earshot.

"Then it won't be weird, because we both live here," he smirked, blowing a puff of weed smoke out of the side of his mouth. "Maybe, Chris.." you said, considering it. "But I'm really mad at you right now! I just wanna get out of this stupid uniform and take a nice, long hot shower," you told him, fiddling with the strings of your apron that was still tied around your waist.

"Okay, go do that. I'll be wherever you need me to be when you're done," he whispered, leaning in and kissing your forehead. You hated how much it made you melt when he did that.

Sometimes, you wanted to hate Chris, but there was something so charming about him, especially when he knew you were mad at him. He knew how to quell your anger by saying all the right things. You took a few more puffs of the joint before passing it off to Chris.

"You're gonna spend the rest of the weekend making up for it." You jabbed your finger into his chest, but there was a playfulness to it like you weren't pissed at him anymore. A smug smirk played in the corner of his lips. He took the joint back from you, his eyes traveling to your ass as you turned around and walked away.

Chris emerged from the tucked away spot on the side of the house, joining his friends again. "Hey, where's your sister going?" Jackson asked, approaching Chris as he craned his neck, watching you head inside. "She's not my real sister," Chris corrected him, only realizing after saying it how weird it was that he'd made the clarification.

"Uh, she's goin' upstairs to change or somethin'," Chris shrugged, acting like he didn't care what you were doing. "Do you think I'd ever have a chance with her?" Jackson casually asked, starting to slur his words from how much he'd had to drink.

Chris responded with an agitated expression, a clenched jaw and a furrowed brow, jealousy immediately flooding his system as he looked up at his friend, eyes sharp like daggers. He'd never heard him say anything about being interested in you at all until tonight, and Chris was not happy about it. His friend grew uncomfortable with the silence, unable to read Chris' facial features.

"What? She's like, insanely hot. You think she'd ever sleep with me?" Jackson asked. "Not a fuckin' chance," Chris snorted, and he had to hold himself back from saying, and not even if I weren't fucking her. "What? Am I just not her type or something?" Jackson asked, his smile falling. "Somethin' like that," Chris responded, avoiding telling him the real reason.

"Well, what is her type?" Jackson asked, taking a sip of his drink. Chris took a long, final drag off of the joint he held between his two fingers, still studying his friend's expression and trying to determine if he was a threat or not.

"If you're not it, why do ya care? Just lay off, man. She's my sister, and you're my best friend. It's weird," Chris shrugged, trying to hold back his snarky remarks as he threw the spent roach on the sidewalk and crushed it under his shoe. "But like, not your real sister," Jackson pointed out, using Chris' own words against him, "so, why do you care?"

Chris' intense blue eyes flicked up at Jackson with hatred in them, and he balled his fists at his sides. "Just lay off, huh? I care because I care."

"I don't want to like date her or anything. Just want one night with her," Jackson candidly admitted, not realizing the chord he was about to strike. The only thing worse than Jackson wanting to date you was Jackson wanting to use your body for his own sexual gratification and nothing more.

Without thinking, Chris shoved him. Hard. Jackson's drink sloshed in his hand, and some of it splashed onto the cement, just barely missing his shoes. "Chris, what the fuck?" Jackson shot back, the whole incident drawing attention to the two of them. The guests outside fell silent, watching their altercation unfold.

"Stay the fuck away from her, and don't talk about her that way," Chris quietly muttered as he pushed past Jackson and headed back inside. Jackson stood there, confused, wondering what he'd said to set him off. It's not like Chris hadn't said worse things about women in front of him.

Once he was back in his kitchen, Chris angrily grabbed a beer from the fridge, his cortisol at an all-time high. He tried to brush it off, not wanting the incident to ruin his night. He was determined to still have a good time and not let anything else get to him - well, except for you, descending the stairs in the shortest, skimpiest black dress you owned, hair still wet from your shower.

He watched as a sea of eyes were drawn to you, all his friends drinking you in as their gazes danced over your slutty little dress and your exposed skin. He watched as you shot a few of the boys a suggestive smile, and by now, he'd had enough. He pushed through the crowd, bounding up the steps to you.

"What the fuck is this?" Chris asked, grabbing your wrist and motioning towards the black fabric that barely covered your ass. "You think this is some kinda fuckin' catwalk? Trying to show yourself off to all my friends?" Chris demanded, nostrils flared and an angry stare that bore into you.

"What? You don't think I look good?" You asked him, giving him a flirtatious smirk. You knew exactly what you were doing, and Chris was walking right into your trap. "You do look fuckin' good. That's the problem. Who're ya trying to show off for, hmm?" Chris asked, tightening his grip on your wrist.

"For you, silly," you replied, giving him a smug expression. "I don't buy it. Go change," Chris ordered you, his eyes dark with lust and jealousy as he looked you over one more time. You leaned in, your soft lips brushing against his ear lobe as you whispered, "Make me."

Without saying another word, he twisted your arm so that you had no other choice but to turn around. "Ow!" You cried out as he marched you back up the steps, tightening his hold on you. He dragged you into his bedroom, where there was a couple making out on his bed and starting to undress.

"This is my fuckin' room. Get the fuck out," Chris sternly said, picking up the girl's top that was thrown on his floor and shoving it into her arms. Both of them looked astonished, scurrying out of the room as they struggled to put their clothes back on. Chris immediately locked the door after he slammed it in their faces.

They were both too stunned to speak, exchanging an inquisitive look before they headed to the bathroom to finish what they'd started.

"What the fuck do ya think you're doing, huh?" Chris asked with a bit of hurt in his voice that he was trying to mask with anger as he pushed you up against his wall. He roughly grabbed your waist. "You're not tryin' to get Jackson's attention, are ya?"

You laughed at his accusation. "Fuck no. He wishes." You bit down on your lip, completely turned on by the way Chris wanted you all to himself. Chris searched your face for any deception, hoping that you were telling the truth.

"You'd never fuck him, would ya?" He wondered aloud, digging his fingers into your sides, almost afraid to hear your answer. "Not even if we were the last two people on earth," you responded without hesitation.

The words that left your lips were like music to his ears. With one hand still firmly on your hip, he reached up with his other, cradling your face, his touch almost gentle for a moment. "That's what I like t'hear," Chris whispered, leaning down towards you.

His glazed over blue eyes met yours for a moment before he closed the distance between your lips and his, his nose brushing against yours to tilt your face towards him. His kiss was hungry, aggressive, and full of need. Now both of his hands were reaching up, his fingers threading their way into your hair.

He softly moaned into your mouth, the sound sending a tickling vibration through your lips as he pressed his erection into your hip, pinning you between the wall and his body. You felt the reckless passion in his touch that he was always careful to reign in every other sexual encounter the two of you'd had.

This time was different. It was like he couldn't pull you close enough. Maybe it was the alcohol, the weed, or the fear that he might lose you to his best friend or some other man, but he couldn't hold back the sheer desire he felt for you.

He pulled away from your lips, nudging your head up so he could leave a trail of kisses down your neck. He slipped your strap off of your dress and watched as the flimsy fabric fell away to reveal one of your tits to him.

He leaned down and took it into his mouth, swirling his tongue around your stiff nipple and gently biting down on it. He tugged your other dress strap down with more fervor this time, moving to your other breast and wrapping his lips around your sensitive peak.

Your hands found their way to his head, holding him against your chest and combing through his hair with your fingers as he hummed against your nipple. The entire time he suckled on each breast, his perfect blue eyes never left yours.

He pulled away, nudging your legs open with his knee and spreading them apart. His right hand wandered below your waist, and he slowly traced his fingers along the inside of your thigh, smirking at you when he dragged them through a drop of arousal that had started leaking down your soft flesh.

"Fuck, you're dripping," he whispered lustfully. His hand continued its path up your dress, and his demeanor changed when he made direct contact with your heat. "No panties?" He hissed, spreading open your lower lips and roughly rubbing your clit with his middle finger. You arched your back off the wall, melting into his touch as a gasp left your lips.

"Oops. I guess I forgot to put them on," you innocently answered, but Chris knew better. "You came downstairs with this skimpy little outfit on and didn't even bother puttin' panties on underneath? Who's this for, huh?" He rasped, staring down at you possessively.

You didn't want any of his friends, but you couldn't help how much you liked the way he treated you when he thought that you did, so you didn't set the record straight. You gave him a half-hearted shrug, a smirk starting in the corner of your mouth.

"You really are a little fuckin' slut, aren't ya? Tryin' to show your pretty pussy off at my party? You've got some fuckin' nerve," he whispered into your ear. You could hear the territorial edge in his voice, turning you on even more.

Without warning, he dropped to his knees, staring up at you as he hiked up your dress. He kept his blue eyes fixed on you as he attached his lips to your throbbing clit. He quickly flickered his tongue over your bundle of nerves, watching your jaw fall slack and your head fall back softly against his wall.

"This pussy belongs to me. Say it," Chris demanded in a husky voice, pulling his mouth off of you just long enough to watch you squirm at the lack of touch. "It's all yours, Chris. My pussy belongs to you," you softly whimpered, running your fingers through his hair, guiding his head back between your thighs.

You tilted your head forward again, taking in the view of him licking a long stripe from your hole to your clit, wrapping his lips around it again and beginning to suck. Chris lifted your right leg, throwing it over his shoulder, the heel of your shoe resting on his back while he ate you like a man starving.

He had both his hands on your ass, pulling you down onto his face as you started to grind against his tongue. You could already feel your legs starting to tremble, nearing the edge as Chris expertly worked his mouth on you.

Before you could finish, he moved his hands to your hips again, pulling his head away. "Turn around, fuckin' slut," Chris ordered you. You obediently listened, pressing your cheek up against the wall.

Chris gently ran his fingertips along your outer leg from your high heel all the way up to your hip before pushing your dress up even further and revealing your perfect ass to him. He grabbed a handful of each cheek, admiring the way curve of your back and the way you were bent over, inviting him to do whatever he wanted to you.

He spread you open again, drinking in the view of your slick folds and your drooling hole. You gasped and smiled as you felt him spit on your cunt and then start massaging his saliva into your sensitive flesh with the pad of his thumb. He chuckled at your reaction before he leaned in and started eating your pussy from the back, moaning to himself like he was devouring his favorite meal.

"Chris.." his name fell from your lips as you peered back over your shoulder at him. You pressed your hands firmly up against the wall, trying to stabilize yourself. You arched your back further, sticking your ass out and giving Chris easier access to your throbbing clit. You felt him drag his tongue along your folds, periodically slurping up your juices.

He released his grip on your left cheek, raising his hand a few inches and then delivering a harsh smack followed by a rough grab, causing you to jump and squeal and leaving a painful sting on your sensitive skin.

Your body started to tremble again, feeling the tip of his nose pressing against your entrance as he alternated between kissing, licking, and sucking. You were on the verge of losing control, Chris' name pouring from your lips along with a slew of profanities. You were just about to finish when you felt him pull away.

"No, no, no!" You cried out desperately, tears pricking the corners of your eyes at the sudden withdraw of sensation when you were so close.

You let out a relieved sigh as you heard the sound of him fiddling with his belt and his zipper. You felt his mushroom-shaped tip slowly dragging up and down your slit, the warmth of his hot breath against your neck, and the feeling of his hands as he clasped your wrists and kept them pinned against the wall.

"Tell me who ya belong to," he said huskily into your ear. Before you could answer, you felt the jolt of his hips, breaching your entrance and stretching you around his fully hard cock. "C'mon. Be a good girl and tell me who owns this pussy," he reiterated, his voice softer this time.

"You do, Chris. All yours," you managed to get out. He wasn't as concerned with going fast as much as he was going hard and deep. Every time he drove his hips forward, slamming them into you, you let out a desperate whimper. He could feel your ass recoil against him with every thrust.

His left hand left your wrist and snaked around your throat, pulling you off of the wall, and he wrapped his right arm around your waist, pulling you back against him. "Good girl," he whispered into the crook of your neck as he started kissing and biting down on your soft flesh.

You tilted your head, giving him better access, feeling his lips and his teeth along your sensitive skin while he fucked you from behind. Chris usually liked to tease you, make you beg for it, but he couldn't stop himself this time.

Your breath hitched in your throat as he started thrusting in and out of you at an irreverent pace, the grip of his fingers tightening around your neck. "Say you're mine," Chris purred. "I'm yours, Chris," you moaned as you started to come undone, clenching around his length.

He held onto you tightly, fucking you through your orgasm and the aftershocks as your whole body started to shake against him. "That's it. Cum all over my cock," Chris whispered as he started to pulse inside of you. He pumped you full of his cum, softly whimpering into your ear as he finished.

His thrusts slowed to a stop, giving your body a final squeeze before he released you from him grasp and pulled out of you. You turned around, and the two of you stood there breathless for a moment, you leaning with your back against the wall, and Chris, towering over you. The two of you exchanged a dazed look.

Chris liked the dynamic between the two of you, the way you acted out just so he could put you in your place. However, he'd be lying to himself if he said he was okay with having you prance around like that in front of his friends. It bothered him that in their eyes, you were available. Single.

It killed him that he couldn't show you off, have you under his arm, and pull you close and kiss you when he saw other guys checking you out. It was a love that was too forbidden. You had to keep each other a secret.

He reached up and stroked your cheek with a softness in his expression and something else that looked a bit like love. He leaned in and locked his lips onto yours, kissing you passionately one more time.

"Okay, now, I mean it. Go change. I'll meet you back downstairs," Chris whispered, looking into your eyes. His tone was serious, not looking for a fight.

"Chris," you said, placing your hand on his before he could pull away. "I don't wanna go back downstairs. I want everyone to leave. I want you to sleep in my bed with me tonight," you begged, batting your lashes at him.

Normally, he'd scoff, roll his eyes, and make some comment about how the only reasons he'd ever sleep in your bed is if he fell asleep there after the two of you had fucked. However, this time was different.

"Of course," he said sweetly, still cradling your face and running his thumb thoughtfully along your cheekbone. "I'm gonna go tell everyone that someone called the cops or somethin'. They'll all dip," he chuckled, pressing his soft lips to your forehead.

"You better," you whispered, looking up at him with hearts in your eyes, unable to contain how smitten you felt. "Ya gotta stop looking at me like that. You're makin' me sick," Chris replied, but he didn't sound like he meant it, especially because he was looking at you the same way.

Chris helped you fix your dress and joked with you about needing to wear it around the house more often. You quietly unlocked the door and carefully stepped out after making sure no one was around. You slipped into your own room, thankfully, without anyone seeing you do the walk of shame from your stepbrother's bedroom to yours at the other end of the hallway.

Chris managed to get everyone to leave rather quickly, watching them all scatter like roaches when he yelled one simple word: "Cops!"

Less than an hour later, Chris was spooning you in your bed, his legs intertwined with yours as the two of you laid tangled in your sheets. He had his arms wrapped around your frame and his lips pressed to your cheek as he peppered your face in kisses.

Both of you were giggling as Chris recounted to you the way he almost fought Jackson over the comment he'd made about wanting you. "Don't worry, Chris. I'm not actually interested in any of your friends, especially not Jackson," you assured him, closing your tired eyes. Chris squeezed you tighter, nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

"I fuckin' love you," the words tumbled out of his mouth, his hot breath hitting your skin. He froze at his own admission. He'd known for months now that he loved you, but the vulnerability of saying out loud sent him into a mental spiral.

He hadn't meant to. It just came out.

He laid there in silence for what felt like an eternity, worrying that you didn't feel the same way and scared that you'd call the whole arrangement off if you knew how he really felt. After all, he was your stepbrother. It was wrong for the two of you to be sexually involved, but romantically, too?

"I love you, too, Chris," you nonchalantly replied as if it were a completely normal phrase for you to say to him. He smiled to himself, relieved that you reciprocated his feelings and that it didn't have to be some monumental, dramatic thing.

Chris lightly ran his fingertips over your arm in a soothing manner as you drifted off to sleep, and he held you the whole night.

#sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #christopher sturniolo #dom chris sturniolo #stepbro!chris

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the-one-who-lambs · 1 day ago

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Sheep body language

Since the body language of cats is pretty common knowledge, I haven't had to research it too much for fic-writing purposes. I haven't gotten a chance to interact with sheep nearly as often as I have cats, though, so I find myself looking up the body language of sheep quite often. I thought it might be helpful/interesting to share some of what I've found over the years of writing CotL fics, in case anyone wants to use it to help with their writing/art c: Some of this I've learned from professional/farming resources, but most of it is honestly just from reading forums about sheep and reading the "informal data" about people's experiences with sheep!

Stomping, quite predictably, means a sheep is irritated/aggressive, but their stomping isn't actually all that loud as you might expect with hooves. (Thus, it's easy to misjudge how aggressive a sheep might be feeling if their stomping is fairly quiet.)

If they're pawing someone, though, it often means they're trying to pester for treats/pets.

Ears turned sideways or a bit backwards means a sheep is relaxed. Pointing backwards usually indicates fear. Pointing forwards, especially if the head is tilted up, can indicate either stress or curiosity (the common denominator here is the sheep is trying to figure out what's going on/if something is unfamiliar or new). Asymmetrical ears are associated with stress or frustration as well.

Scared or uncomfortable sheep might drop their heads, as if to blend in with the flock/their surroundings

If the ears are flicking, the sheep is probably frustrated or stressed. Their ears tend to move more often the more uncomfortable they are

They also tend to snort when they're annoyed

Half-shut eyes indicate feeling safe, but squinting can indicate the sheep's in pain. Another common sign of pain is grinding their teeth.

Bunting is an aggressive gesture, and so is lowering the head/presenting the forehead and backing up (preparing to bunt).

On a similar note, head pets or horn touches can similarly be taken as a show of dominance/challenge since rams headbutt. Top-of-the-head pets should be given with caution, only if you know the sheep enjoys it, but it'll depend on the individual

Common places sheep like to be pet: base of/behind/inside the ears, under-neck, under the jaw, chest, under the belly, top of the tail, behind the horns (apparently sheep can get itchy behind the horns). If they're really happy with the scratches they might lick the air.

Happy tail wiggles.

Sheep can get the zoomies when they're excited.

It takes about 4-5 sheep to get them to display their normal flocking behaviors. Isolation from other sheep "causes severe stress and should be avoided," and sheep separated from their mothers in young childhood tend to be more anxious in adulthood even when in company of others :)

Take the above info as much or as little as you'd like to, since we're all making fan creations that are fictional anyway so you should do whatever you want forever. Anyway, have fun with these

#hannah's rambles #cult of the lamb #cotl

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riverbends · 1 day ago

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BLUEBIRD

(andrew “pope” cody x f!reader)

part one: wingspan | mdni | MASTERLIST

this fic is a continuation of this concept.

synopsis: your daughter leads you to the brooding, shark-eyed man who quietly lingers down the aisle.

tags: ANGST, season 4 pope, more angst, age gap, heavy yearning, very brief mentions of violence, eventual smut soon i promise lmfaoo wc: 2.4k (i definitely intend to write much longer chapters) cat says: this is set some time around s4ep1 and the perspectives shift back and forth.

He finds you here again. The same day, two weeks later.

Only, this time, he can’t hide from your child, who springs up on her toes upon seeing him linger by the bread racks. Ten feet away, give or take. As soon as she tugs on your sleeve, he blinks and shifts his attention to a bag of rye bread slices in an attempt to feign intrigue with something other than you.

Still a blur in the periphery of his sight, you lean down to catch her whispers while she cups a little hand around your ear.

“Ohhh,” you coo in a hushed voice. He hears you laugh then, and it seizes his heart. He has nowhere to run; nothing to conceal him. A ‘deer in the headlights’ kind of dread. His throat dries and tightens when blurred shapes approach his right flank. Your daughter is dragging you toward him with all the might in her four-year-old body. “Slow down, please, Sam,” you try to warn her.

He’s left with no other choice but to glance to his side and acknowledge the two of you (The haunting image of something he could’ve had, once upon a time, if Smurf didn’t get into his head. Another woman, another child, neither of which he felt he deserved).

“Hi, I’m so sorry,” you smile apologetically, feeling the ache of regret gnaw on your innards. You see his jaw tense. His arms remain firmly crossed and you take note of the way they bulk up and swell under his shirt sleeves. A vein snaking along his freckled forearm. “She just really wanted to say hello,” you look down at your child, who beams and swings her hand with yours. He looks down too, stone-faced and unconcerned.

A fading purple welt brands his cheekbone and it draws your attention to how worn he looks. Little nicks and scars peppering his nose with the ghost of someone’s locked fist crashing into the cartilage. You notice his hand curling over his bicep as shades of yellow and red bloom like withered flowers under the marred skin of his knuckles.

He must be a handful of weeks out of an old fight, and you wonder what kind of man throws his body into a torrent of violence and then gifts a kid—and quite morosely at that—some snacks (presumably) out of the kindness of his heart.

For a moment, you’re mortified by the possibility that your daughter has mistaken him for the wrong man. Or that he, for whatever reason, has entirely forgotten the random interaction he initiated in the parking lot two weeks ago. The box of chocolate pretzels he bought for your daughter is still sitting half-empty in your pantry.

“Hello,” Sam waves with her free hand, but she’s suddenly shy after all that nagging and pulling. She moves to wrap herself around your leg, squishing her face against the side of your thigh.

Pope watches you rest your hand on the crown of her head, and he has to chase his breath while keeping a straight face. Lena echoes in the back of his mind. Haunts him. Your child is probably a few inches shorter than she would be, though he’s not even entirely sure if she’s still the same height now. He knows it’s a ridiculous notion that his niece could have grown so significantly in only a matter of months. But even a day without her feels longer than a lifetime, and then some.

Pope has also never really been smooth with people, let alone beautiful young mothers such as yourself. Wouldn’t blame you if you confuse his muted wonderment with blunt apathy.

You’re flooded with relief when he finally nods at her, even when he says ‘Hi’ in a colourless tone. You wonder if he’s ever spoken to a child before. It’s a little sweet, nonetheless.

“That was really kind of you,” your voice pulls his eyes back up to you, “buying the pretzels for her last week. I don’t know how you noticed.”

You search his face as if the set of his features will give him away and answer all your multiplying questions. It’s pathetic how much the gesture had moved you—a memory you haven’t stopped revisiting since that day he found you and Sam by your car. When was the last time somebody paid attention to her? To you?

“Just mildly observant,” he shrugs. Mildly doesn’t even begin to cover it, but you don’t know that.

You wouldn’t say that you find his stare to be too unnerving, but it’s not exactly comforting you either. His eyes are a shade you can’t properly distinguish and the way he looks at you seems to darken his irises significantly. Pupils blown wide; colour, swallowed up. You might as well be trapped in some configuration of a microscope, your myriad cells all laid bare for his study.

Sam decides she longer has any interest in the man and circles around your legs to look at the rows of bread beside you. She’s crouching by your feet, attempting to count past thirteen and repeatedly starting back at one. You look up again to find his eyes boring into a fraction of your bare collarbone.

All this time, his body has been facing the bread racks while his head is angled to the right. You wonder if his neck might be sore.

Your hands sink into the pockets of your shorts, “You really didn’t have to, but thank you. Again.”

He leaves a pause like he has to chew on your words before finding his own.

“You couldn’t afford it,” he says. “Wasn’t a problem.” Maybe you’re kidding yourself, but he sounds a touch softer. Again, you’re trying to figure out where he could’ve been when you had to say no to Sam and how much of the conversation he remembers. No matter how much sense you try to make of it, nothing about him seems to add up.

“Money is tight,” you say with a nod before averting your eyes almost in shame. Like you’re trying to sand down the sharp corners of your deficit so as not to further humiliate yourself. But, to Pope, you don’t do a very good job of it. Hiding your shame, that is. He can’t figure out how to communicate his sympathy without coming on too strong.

Before he can stop himself, he tilts his head, asking, “Where’s her father?”

The bluntness of it stuns you a little bit, but then you’re laughing again, as soft as the first time. His insides liquify at the sound.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” you sigh, “I’m not sure these days. Probably the other side of the planet.”

You say it so casually, but you still can’t get a laugh out of him. He’s scanning your face like he knows you’ve got more to say, and you probably do, but you’ve never cared enough to remember her father’s name because he sure as shit doesn’t remember hers.

“He doesn’t support you?” Pope presses before he wonders why he even bothered asking. Who, in his life, can stand up and say that their father actually acted like one? Out of all of his mother’s lovers, who had been the least deplorable? How many of them had actually cared about anything besides themselves?

He once thought that Baz, at the very least, would break the cycle of abandon.

You glance down at your kid, wary of her ears, before manoeuvring around her and stepping closer to him. The proximity has him feeling lightheaded, but he pivots to face you with his whole body this time. You lower your voice, sharing half-secrets with a brooding stranger in a grocer’s aisle.

“We weren’t really together,” you start, a little scared that he might think differently of you now (You don’t know that it’s near impossible to scare him off with whatever you’re about to confess). “I was young—too young. He was older. And charming, at first.” Your mind revisits old memories like spoiled milk.

Something burgeons deep inside him, closely comparable with the need to disinfect. To clean. To wipe your skin free of the residue of that man. He doesn’t think it makes you dirty, not in the slightest. But he sees it as a stain on your life and he finds himself incensed by the idea that you’ll have to spend year after year trying to scrub it all away. Betraying his better judgement, he has already half-convinced himself to do it for you.

“How young?”

You think on it for a moment, swallowing a knot of worry. “Eighteen.”

Pope remembers his sister, then. Youth: so forcefully ripped away.

“What about him?”

“He was in college,” you shrug. The bastard never actually disclosed his exact age – one of the many things you’re too embarrassed to admit. “Hosted ragers every weekend and breezed through study. Sam’s almost five now and I still try to convince her that I had her all by myself. But I can only lie for so long.”

Pope can guess that you’re in your early twenties, a little younger than Deran. He’s only met you twice and he can already feel his resolve burning. There is a temptation to keep you here until you’ve told him every harrowing detail you can recall from the moment you learned Sam was growing in your belly up until now.

If you couldn’t afford an extra item on your grocery list, then he’d wager you really don’t have anyone at all. What he feels now is foreign to him; has him abandoning logic and sense when he plucks his wallet from his back pocket.

“What?” You’re laughing nervously as you watch him thumb through folded cash, holding out three 50s and a 20 like he’s just giving you simple change. He doesn’t budge. Doesn’t do anything to encourage you to take it either, but the notes are just loosely lodged between his index and middle fingertips. He moves his hand a fraction forward. You start shaking your head when you realise he’s being serious. “No, Jesus Christ, I can’t. I don’t even know your name.”

“Andrew,” he says it like it scraped his throat on the way out, but his eyes soften when you repeat it under your breath. A sacred thing on your tongue. He almost asks you to say it once more.

“I still can’t take this,” you shake your head again, smiling like you’re apologising. He is adamant in his stillness. “Look, I appreciate it, really. But—”

Before you can anticipate his movement, he’s swiftly slipping the cash into the front pocket of your shorts, tucking it in further even when you try to move away from him.

He steps back when you surrender, his arms hanging limp at his sides. You’re both frozen on opposite walls of the aisle with nothing but four feet and a heavy silence between you two. You start to breathe a little fast when guilt boils beneath your chest.

“It’s too much,” you bow your head and bury your face in your hands, conflicted. Under most circumstances, you’d take offence to the size of his insistence, the way his fingers demanded space for the notes in your pocket. The way he almost crowded you against the shelves behind your back, despite your attempts to swat him away.

But there were fractions of seconds where you caught the troubled crease in his brow as he fussed with your hands and your shorts. Part of his containment had cracked and sent pure anguish flashing across his face, like he’d fall apart in front of you if he couldn’t make you accept his offering. Didn’t seem motivated by pity, but rather driven by some anxious necessity.

You sniffle and audibly exhale into your palms.

His hands twitch with the ache to move. To fix. Bruised and bloodied as they are, he is overcome with the urge to wrap them around your wrists and uncover your face. Not to force you into baring the shame you’re trying to mask, but to fervidly show you that he is no stranger to it—the kind of shame that careens out of helplessness.

“For her,” he says quietly, almost pleading across the gap. Sam looks up at Pope from the floor. “Take it for her,” his voice wavers and he’s not entirely sure if he’s still referring to your child, or the one he entrusted to a family in the suburbs. The child for whom he would’ve moved mountains. And wouldn't he still? Isn't that why he continues to buy whatever he used to feed her and let it expire in the pantry? Isn't that why he's here?

You pull your hands away; eyes, glossy and red. The sight strikes him where it hurts, and he kicks himself for putting you under pressure.

He shifts on his feet, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean,” he pauses briefly, trying to breathe again, “to come on so strong.” Pope watches you dig the cash out of your pocket and reconfirm to yourself exactly how much he’s given you before you’re shaking your head again.

“Fine. I’ll…I’ll keep the 20,” you sift through the green notes in your hands, “but I am not taking the rest—”

“No, no,” he backs into the bread racks, a hand motioning in the air for you to keep the money to yourself. The moment you try to speak again, he’s off. Leaves you with nothing but a flat “goodbye” before charging down the aisle like you’re suddenly the last person he wants to see. Your heartbeat resounds in your skull.

Sam babbles about something but it’s nearly indecipherable because that man seems to have dragged all the sound away with him. Her calls accumulate and you’re pulled back into yourself. While you reluctantly slot all $150 into your wallet, your daughter reaches into the basket he left on the ground.

“What’ve you got there, Sammy?” You try to smile, coming to crouch down beside her.

Two jars. Smooth peanut butter and sweet strawberry jelly—that’s all he left. Of course, this aisle just indicates that he was initially looking for bread.

“Hmm,” you watch Sam twist the jars in the basket. “He’s a little funny, don’t you think?” You ask Sam, smoothing her hair back from her face, “An adult man shopping to make PB&J.”

You wonder, then, if he had intended to make sandwiches for a child, and have you prevented him from doing so? Did you really scare him away? You stall with Sam a little longer, guarding his basket with the pathetic hope that he might return.

One moment, and another longer. Your knees grow sore. You take the ache as your cue to leave.

#andrew pope cody #pope cody #andrew cody #andrew pope cody x reader #pope cody x reader #andrew cody x reader #shawn hatosy #animal kingdom #the pitt #dr abbot #jack abbot #dr abbot x reader #bluebird riverbends #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt x reader

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kikidoul · 20 hours ago

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── BEACH WEATHER.

ヾ(´︶`♡)ﾉ 박종성 x fem! reader content strangers to lust trope ᥫ᭡ warning explicit sexual content usage of petnames open ending used jay being a green flag protected sex fingering pussy eating aftercare both reader and jay have experience lmk if i didn't tagged anything else. . .!? 2420— mlist. req

note. second time writing jay and i think i did a decent job writing for him! also would like to share that i kinda cringed when i was writing him and reader's interaction. i hope this meets your expectations hehe. can i count this as a happy belated birthday to jay though... taglist. @tfwbluu @hoonstqr @riqomi

This is a horrible idea.

You sighed for the unknown time after rejecting a stranger’s offer of him buying you a drink. You knew the implication behind his seemingly innocent, friendly offer and you didn’t want to take the chance. You leaned back in your seat, crossing your arms with a scowl on your face as you scanned the sea of people before you. But it was futile. You couldn’t find your friends, the very same group of friends who promised they will stick with you and won’t leave you alone.

You were at a beach party, having decided to go on a much-needed vacation to the beach with your friends to celebrate the start of your holidays. When you were told there will be a party happening at night, your friends begged for you to join them. At first, you declined because you weren’t a party person and you wanted to spend your night under the sheets to read your favorite book. But your friends were persistent, which brings you to your current dilemma.

Unlike a regular nightclub, the beach party is open-air with loud, edm music playing in the background. Thankfully, there was a bar that allows you to sit back, have a drink while you enjoy the fresh air. Well, that was the plan until three guys approached you, back to back with the intention of doing something more than just having a drink.

“Hello, you look annoyed.”

Ugh great.

Rolling your eyes, you prepared yourself as you looked to your side, only to pause when a handsome man appeared before you. He has honey-toned skin, messy pitch-black hair from the wind blowing past and a sharp jawline that you might cut your finger with a simple graze and his features were something crafted from the hands of Gods and Goddesses. To put it simply; he was really attractive, enough to make you feel flustered when you realised you had piqued his interest.

“Was that a question or an observation?” You asked, maintaining your politeness while keeping your guard up.

The stranger chuckled, his eyes crinkling as he stood beside you while keeping some distance. The small, kind and thoughtful act made your heart skip a beat. “That was an observation. I’ve been looking at you for a while now and I have to say, you’re really beautiful. I don’t think words are enough to do you justice.”

You could only pray that he won’t notice your reddened ears and cheeks at his honesty and sincerity. “Why thank you. You sure have a way with words, don’t you? Do you talk like this to other women too? Or is it just me?”

You weren’t sure where you got the confidence, but you were pleased with his reaction: eyes widening slightly at your response before he composed himself, eyes gleaming in mischief and amusement.

He leaned in slightly, a movement so small but you caught it anyways, a sly and suggestive grin stretching across his face. “What if I were to say it’s just you? Would you accept my offer?”

You decide to play along and copy his expression. “And what would your offer be?”

“How about you and I get a drink later? My treat.”

You arched an eyebrow, impressed with his bold move. Both of you knew there won’t be any drinking done, considering how he was undressing you with his lust-filled eyes.

“Sure, that sounds lovely.”

As expected, you found yourself in his room. Clothes were hurriedly removed and tossed to the carpeted floor without a care in the world. Unlike the previous hook-ups you have done, he was gentle. The way he treated you was as if you were a fragile piece of glass that could shatter at any moment, if he wasn’t careful enough. You could tell he has plenty of experience with how he ate you out.

“F-Fuck, don’t stop, please,” you whined, eyelids fluttering shut as he plunged his tongue deeper and at the same time, pushing two fingers in until he was knuckles-deep.

He groaned at how tight you felt, your velvety, gummy walls clinging onto his fingers without any intention of letting him go. He crooked his fingers, grinning at how you physically flinched and he knew he had hit bullseye. He audibly moaned against your pussy when you grabbed a fistful of his hair, your thighs locking him in place. He didn’t care if you were choking him to death. If this was how he goes out, he wouldn’t mind it at all.

He alternated between giving sweet, quick kitten licks and harsh, long swipes of his tongue, giving you whiplash. To Jay, your sounds are the sweetest sounds he has heard, like music to his ears and he wants to hear more. He wants to see you falling apart under him. He wants you to remember him when you do this with someone else, someone else that isn’t him.

He lets you grind yourself on his nose, causing you to gasp when you find the perfect angle. Your back arched off the bed when you felt your orgasm coming. You tried to say something, anything but your mind turned to mush when he gave a harsh suck to the sensitive bud peeking out. And that was enough to tip you over the edge. You tried to pull him away but it was futile. His strength easily overwhelmed yours and it’s like he wants to be buried deep in your pussy.

You let out a high-pitched cry as he greedily slurps away, like he was a famished kitten drinking from a plate of warm milk. Your limbs felt boneless the moment it was over, your thighs slumping on his shoulders and your grip loosened on his hair. Jay finally moved away and seeing how his face was drenched in your slick, his lips glistening under the lights and some had even landed on his forehead made your cheeks flushed red.

Jay wiped them away with the back of his hand, tongue darting out—the very same tongue that made you feel like you were floating, to clean his damp lips. Your throat felt dry, nervously swallowing as your hands laid by your sides. He shifted backwards so he could get off the bed but you stopped by, grabbing his wrist and he gave you a questioning look.

“Wait, what about you?” You asked, eyes glancing down to the bulge in his pants.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s fine, don’t worry about me. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You light-heartedly rolled your eyes. “I’m fine with you fucking me, but with a condom of course.”

“Oh.”

You laughed at how he stared at you, taken aback with your consent and words. You motioned for him to come over with two fingers, a coy grin on your face as you spread your legs, snickering at how his eyes trailed down, lingering in the spot between your legs. “What’re you waiting for, pretty boy? Get to it or I’ll leave.”

He didn’t need to think twice, fumbling through the bedside drawer and pulling out a small box of condoms. The sight made you raise an eyebrow.

“Do you always bring that with you?” You questioned, pushing yourself further up on the bed and repositioned the pillow as you laid your head on it, along with sliding another pillow underneath your hips for support.

“Uh, my friends bought it as a birthday gift to me. It’s stupid—I mean, they’re stupid,” he stuttered, hands managing to tear the transparent packaging. He got to his knees and that was when you saw it.

Your mouth moved before your mind could process the words. “I don’t think that’s going to fit.”

He paused in the midst of sliding the condom over his hardened, standing upright cock that stood proudly as it rested against his stomach. “I’ll make sure it fits, princess. Just lay back and look pretty, can you do that for me?”

You nodded, feeling shy at the sudden usage of the pet name. You watched as he moved with confidence, like he knows what he’s doing. He positioned himself in between your legs, gently gripping onto your upper left thigh and aligned himself with your entrance. Your breath hitched at the feeling of his tip gliding against your still puffy folds, gathering the remaining slick. His eyes softened at the sight of your hesitation, rubbing circles on your skin.

“Hey, it’s fine. Just calm down and relax for me,” he assures you. “I won’t put it in until you allow me to. I’ll wait for you, princess.”

Biting down onto your lip, you nodded, nails digging into the soft sheets beneath you. “...Go ahead.”

Instead of slamming in in one go, he slowly pushes in inch by inch. It felt like decades when he finally bottomed out, eliciting pleased sounds from both of you. Your head spins at how full you feel just from his cock alone. He didn’t move, eyes focused on your face while searching for any signs of discomfort. He was patient and that was something rare in the hook-ups you have done.

“You can move,” you gave him the greenlight and he hummed, adjusting himself.

The slight movement caused his cock to rub against your walls, drawing a blissed-out sigh from you. He pulled out until his tip was still inside before pushing back in and repeated the movement, keeping a steady pace but it was enough to draw soft “ah-ah-ah” from you. You tilted your head back, raising your left leg and he got the hint—slinging it over his left shoulder. The small change of angle allows him to slide and hit deeper. He was practically kissing your cervix, with how deep he could go.

Lewd sounds of skin against skin combined with your moans and his groans echoed amongst the four walls of the hotel room. You were sure whoever walked past would know what you’re doing. The thought of the chances of people hearing you made you clenched down on his cock, drawing a hiss from him.

“Fuck, you sure you’ve done this before? You’re so tight like a virgin,” he gasped, voice hoarse. He already sounds ragged, his previous calm and collected composure slowly fading away.

“Ngh, m-more,” you whined, eyes rolling to the back of your head when his cock hit the spot that made your legs spasm.

“Yeah? You want more? Your greedy pussy is not satisfied with what I’m giving?” He sneers, the sudden change of his personality leaves you speechless.

But you were too far gone to think straight, getting drunk on the intoxicating, addictive and heavenly feeling of him thrusting into you. You could only let out a whimper, the sound making him smirked. He readjusted his hands, moving from your thighs to your hips and with new found strength, he increased his pace, fucking into you without mercy.

“Oh god, s-so good, hah,” you cried out, words borderline slurring as you succumbed to it.

You knew you were reaching your climax when your muscles tightened, like a rubber band stretched to its limit and how your legs were already shaking. All it took was one final sharp thrust and you came with a cry. He, on the other hand, showed no signs of slowing down and continued snapping his hips against yours as he fucks you through your orgasm. All you could do was to lay there, allowing him to use you to reach his climax.

You shuddered when he spilled into the condom, able to feel the warmth of his cum through the thin fabric of the condom. He slowly pulled out, making you wince at the sudden uncomfortable feeling of emptiness, quickly tying the condom and tossed it into the bin with terrifying accuracy. He ran a hand through his hair, pulling back some of the strands that were stuck onto his forehead.

“Wait here, I’ll be back,” he said, not waiting for your response before going to the bathroom. His words made you snort, as you couldn’t move an inch, not after what he did.

He returned a few seconds later, holding a damp towel and took his care in wiping you clean. When he was done, he passed you a plastic bottle of water, even going the extra mile by helping you in drinking it by supporting the back of your neck, like how a mother would do to her newborn baby. He then removed the stained sheets, tossing them to the floor, which will be a problem for the housekeeper tomorrow. Once you were properly hydrated, he moved to where his luggage was, dug through his clothes and handed you a set of his own.

“Uh, I’m not sure if you’d prefer wearing your own clothes or if you don’t mind, you could wear mine for the night. No pressure or anything,” he said, looking everywhere else but you.

“Sure, I don’t mind,” you shrugged your shoulders, accepting the clothes and putting them on after slipping back into your underwear, looking down to see his shirt reaching your thighs. Still, you wore the shorts, which acted more like pants for you.

“You can stay here for the night if you want,” he said, eyes searching your face, afraid he might be taking it too far.

Your eyes softened as you nodded in silence and his shoulders sagged with relief. He quickly wore his clothes and the two of you made yourselves comfortable on the bed, pulling the covers up until it reached your chins. It didn’t took you long to fall asleep, sharing the bed with someone who you had just fucked.

The very next morning, you woke up to an empty room. His luggage was gone too. You looked to your side, surprised to see that your clothes were neatly folded and placed on the bed. But what caught your attention was a note placed on the bedside drawer. Reaching over, you opened it and read the handwritten message.

Hey,

I realised that I didn’t get your name and that’s very rude of me. Sorry that I didn’t wake you up as I had to leave for the airport. But if you’d like, perhaps we can get to know one another more? You can text me if you want. I’ve left my number below. Oh and, you can keep my clothes. They look better on you ;)

Regards, Park Jongseong (Jay) xx-xxxx-xxxx

#── writings #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enha imagines #enha x reader #enha smut #enhypen smut #park jongseong x reader #park jongseong imagines #park jongseong x you #park jongseong x y/n #park jongseong smut #jay x reader #jay imagines #jay smut #jay x y/n #jay x you

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elodieunderglass · 3 days ago

Note

Firstly, thank you for answering all the Killie Questions. I've gone from 'Oh, it's the sad, ginger horseboy on my dash again' to telling my wife all about THE SAD, GINGER HORSEBOY 😁 while she makes this face at me: 😐. So, thank you for the indulgence.

Second, I'm desperately curious about the rich weirdo who actually owns Thunder and employs Killie. Who is this person? What is it about pairing Killie and Thunder that delights them so, aside from They Win A Lot? Does Killie actually interact with them much, or is it a 'They Sign My Paychecks' kind of thing?

(Killie the jockey OC)

Ohh this is such a GOOD question and it's really hard to answer!

The Rich Owner is an integral part of the pragmatic underpinnings of Killie's narrative.

Being a stable jockey contracted to a fixed owner in the UK liberates him from having to orbit his family's training yard in Ireland, allowing him some space and independence - normally the jockey children of generational trainers are expected to trot around after their parents and get put up on their horses, keeping everything in the family in a perfectly circular self-sufficient ecosystem. Killie, being a prodigy, has ascended to the completely separate sphere of being on retainer to a stable with limitless resources. (His parents are proud, even if the lack of heir-at-home is destabilising the dynasty.) It means Killie gets distance (physical and emotional) from the evil horse dynasty, that he can focus his energy on the sport, and it means he has a longterm relationship with O Holy Thunder, which is otherwise a bit unrealistic in the modern racing industry. And it means he's tremendously guilty about Not Being Home Where People Need Him - even as they're roaring for him to not worry about that, to conquer the world and have the Tiernan stats raised above all others in the history books, carved in stone and filled in with gold, a fling of faith to restore fading glories of a dying sport, etc.

You can see how all of the dominoes are lined up to topple! So, narratively, the Rich Owner HAS to exist to make all of this happen. The problem, narratively - letting you behind the curtain - is that I hadn't laid out any of Killie's problems with the intention of writing a book!! So Killie's owner has traditionally been whatever I was fighting with at the time, and wanted to rotate. They have variously been:

a terrible boss that puts Killie through the wringer, and he feels like a trapped animal (insert any archetype of a boss you hate, or circumstances of a job that felt like a daily panic attack.)

a great boss who is just so eccentric and charismatic and bugwild and loves treating Killie like a pet, and drags him to fancy rich parties and galas and puts him into terrible, terrible situations. (fun for when you want to imagine rich parties and galas and insufferable rich people. and then to put Killie in them. Sleek and beautiful and tiny and dapper, like a jewelled cufflink, and absolutely nothing but white noise between the ears. a racehorse in a cravat, sent into outer space by a teaspoon of prosecco. someone save him)

a pleasant person with benevolent intentions, who is nonetheless corrupted by their wealth, and you can't ever trust them or forget that (anticapitalist theme for when you're mad at capitalism)

old money

new money

minor royalty

I think old money/minor royalty would be enjoying the pleasure of the captive-knight dynamic you'd get out of keeping Killie. For slightly more than minimum wage salary and the cost of his humble little flat-above-the-stables, you could get quite a lot of amusement

a person with a playboy son who is predatorily interested in Killie (captivated for SOME REASON by his blank stare and wet cough and awkward horsegirl swag) but Killie's impenetrable shield of Killieness, like Saint Patrick's Breastplate cast over a priest before an exorcism, has him completely oblivious to all expressions of interest. the receiver's not tuned to the right channel. possibly not even plugged in. (can be played for comedy or something more sinister.)

not even there because they're not relevant to the narrative (They Sign My Paychecks)

I need to pick one and sort it out so we can get some canon published, but I'm doing it entirely the wrong way 'round so far!

Any advice or archetypes you think are funniest are warmly accepted. we're doing this the wrong-way-round anyway!

#killie #thank you for all of this!! it is EXTREMELY fun and interesting to explain how I would construct a story for you.

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hirugaymi · 3 days ago

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Revisting this post. Hirakagi 28: I was RIGHT this whole time??????

Spoilers, of course. For the entire chapter and its precursors.

OH. MY. GOD. OHMYGOD. IT'S BEEN YEARS, HASN'T IT?

Oh, Harusono-sensei, for as much as I criticize some of your writing decisions, I will be forever thankful for what this chapter and this whole 10 seconds touch arc has given to me. A sensible, empathetic and understading writing of a character that's not in the alloromantic and allosexual spectrum.

Hirano has always been very dear to me, but his relatability and complexity factors were handled so beautifully. I genuinely felt like crying as I read the chapter's translation for the first time.

So, let's go by numbered parts, ok?

Part 1: repulse and discomfort

Exhibit A: the subject is clearly displaying signs of discomfort.

Here's a summary of what Hirano feels about intimacy as of chapter 28:

Kagiura is someone he's comfortable initiating casual, intent-less touching: headpats, leaning against each other's shoulders, sharing a room.

He doesn't understand the whole "intent behind the touch" thing. Can't really comprehend why Kagiura is so adamant on making their interactions change from the status quo.

Emotional intimacy is a much more comfortable territory for Hirano to navigate. He instigates their dialogues about their complicated feelings once Kagiura attempts to hide himself, he wants to understand Kagi's whole relationship bullshit so goddamn bad. He twists and turns the situations in his head as if to deliver his perceptions honestly without hurting Kagi's feelings and making him feel rejected.

Exhibit B: the subject is thinking real hard. This is for all of you calling him an emotional wall.

And finally: Hirano HATES being touched with romantic intent right now.

Exhibit C: would you hug someone who's looking at you like he wants to LEAVE?

I've seen many people fall for Kagiura's rose-tint flowery perception of their interactions. I love Kagiura dearly, he's my baby and my dearest son but, my God, he is selfish. That's the whole point of their conflict. Kagi is NOT thinking about Hirano's limits or Hirano's comfort all throughout HiraKagi with a single exception, that being when he stepped so hard over the line that his own puny little puppy brain started blaring alarm signs that he was going to ruin their relationship forever (when he almost forced Hirano into a kiss).

Kagi does that because he doesn't understand Hirano's...not understading. You can fault him and he absolutely is at fault for being selfish about their relationship but it is complicated to put into his allonormative cute little head that Hirano can love him wholeheartedly without wanting to be held like a boyfriend.

At least, not right now.

Part 2: meeting in the middle

Exhibit D: let's understand out feelings. For the puppy's sake.

Hirano cares. HiraKagi's plot would've died in chapter 8 if he didn't. He's developed this capacity to adequate to Kagiura's advances by internalizing Kagi's desires and trying to make them meet his limits and testing his own boundaries for Kagiura's sake.

This is...incredibly relatable. I'm gonna be real with you. It's how most aro/ace spectrum people who still get into relationships with allos will end up thinking. SOmetimes you love someone to the point of adaptation. Of course, everyone has their hard limits and Hirano is looking for his here.

Hirano takes what he's learned about his perceptions of intimacy gathered from his own experiences and from other people (like asking Sasaki what it feels like to want to kiss someone) and crosses all that information to reach the conclusion:

Hirano wants to be in control.

I COULD make this into a post about how I think this translates into cliché BL sexual dynamics that Harusono-sensei likes to both subvert and play into. But this is a post about Hirano being a well written aro/ace character in a genre that barely has these so I won't. Next time maybe.

Hirano wants to reach out. Hirano wants to put himself out there outside of his hard steel boundaries and bend himself over and over again for Kagi's sake because he just loves Kagi so much. As the person and presence he is in his life. He love Kagi's existence and constance and that's why he's so fucking desperate to keep him here. Why he felt so guilty when it was gone (adults AU).

Hirano doesn't need a glorious, romantic realization. He just needs to know what he feels about Kagi is, too, deep and profound love.

Part 3: think puppy, think!!

Exhbit E: actual fucking dog Kagiura Akira (1 year old).

I get why people don't read HiraKagi because they don't vibe with Kagi's whole deal. I'm well aware he's Harusono's most flawed character and tbh he does get away with so much shit just because he's a cutie. I'm talking about you, people who look over Hirano's clear signs of NO.

I love him dearly, though. Endearing, sweet, huge boy who is so blinded by his own feelings that he fails to see beyond his flowery shoujo version of events. He's a little crazy. I like that about him. Hirano likes that about him.

Kagi's point of growth in the manga is very tied to the idea of "growing up". Finding out he likes a boy basically triggered his puberty all over again. His advances towards Hirano are fully intentional. Sensei doesn't really write about this part of it but I BET YOU this boy thought about researching how you do gay sex. He's so overeager and blindsided by his own determination that he fucks up his own chances.

In chapter 28...He doesn't do that.

Exhibit F for Feelings: this scene made me tear up. He can TELL.

Kagi said exactly what he needed to say. He can TELL. He sees it. He sees the effort, the attempts to understand him, the frustration in Hirano's own heart of noit being able to give all that affection back in a way where the two of them can be satisfied. This means so fucking much.

Kagi is selfish. Kagi overbearing and way too stubborn. Kagi's growth right now is about learning to appraoch Hirano with the same empathy Hirano has approached him. We'll see if he's able. I'm cheering you on, puppy...

so there’s a new hirakagi chapter...can I talk about it a little?

Keep reading

#hirano and kagiura #hirakagi #kagihira #manga analysis #harusono shou #sasaki to miyano #aro/ace hirano is 100% fucking real you're not taking that from me #it made me so happy to read through this whole thing #I'm so proud of my boys #stop telling Hirano he needs to realize things and yell I love you to the world he is NOT like that #Kagiura Akira IS an asshole and more people need to recognize that before defending everything he does I'm sorry

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cautious-soup · 3 days ago

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Ex-Bully!Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader

Summary: Sequel to my Bully!Satoru Gojo story.

You and Satoru spend time together, all the while pretending the two of you together aren't a disaster.

CW// discussion of non-con

A/N: READ ME!! This is an experimental chapter, I'm dubious on whether or not this is a good direction to take the story. Please vote in the polls at the end of you like this direction!!!

ALSO please vote after reading on which JJK character I should write about next!! Tysm, and please enjoy this new chapter :)

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2 months. That was how long Satoru had gone without touching you. That time was part of an eternity to him, an eternity where he never got to see you again. It was endless at best, and maddening at worst.

The world really was on the side of awful people. That he was able to see you again at all, hold you, kiss you—what right did he have?

"I don't completely forgive you, it just isn't possible," you'd said, and he understood.

He told you he was sorry, but not for hurting you. No, if he could go back to when you both first met, he'd do it all over again—nothing felt as good as taking from you.

He was sorry for wanting to hurt you, for reveling in it, craving it.

It wasn't his secret to keep, so he told you as much.

"…that's fucked up," you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. "You say all of that while I'm alone with you?"

Satoru looks down and wrings his hands. It was the day after the cafe, and Satoru invited you to the hotel he was staying at. You obliged his invitation, against your better judgement. Every interaction you had with this man was against your better judgement really. Now, you were both sitting on the couch in his hotel room, trying and failing to have a productive, adult conversation.

"Have you…been to therapy at all?" He asks carefully.

"What good would that do when I still…" you sigh, "Every part of my being is screaming at me to get away from you…and every part of my being is pleading for me to stay with you."

Madness.

"I can't," Satoru looks at you, "I can't promise I won't end up doing something selfish—something that'll hurt you."

"Well yeah, you clearly can't control your impulses," you snort.

"I can control them I—Y/N, I've never been this way about anyone but you. I beat up a guy at a party for cornering a chick once,"

"So you're a hypocrite?"

"…at best."

More silence.

Nothing about this was safe or sane. You were a rabbit twining itself with a wolf who was never satisfied. How long before he devoured you whole?

Maybe you were a masochist.

"I don't know what it is about you," Satoru said lowly, gazing at you, unblinking, "I get things from you that I can't from anyone—anything else."

Satoru is closing the space between you, clutching your shoulders, "Y/N, you have to get away from me. I know you said you'd give me a second chance but I don't deserve it. Whatever you choose to give me won't ever be enough…"

You know that. You know that, and yet.

"You are so mentally unwell," you sigh.

"I learn from the best," Satoru joked, letting go of you.

"Hey, you went crazy way before I did," you say, and Satoru shrugs, "I dunno, you definitely could've called the campus police on me or something."

"Oh so we're victim blaming now?"

"No of course not I'm just saying th—ow!"

Satoru rubs his shoulder, "Ok ok, sorry. My fault."

"Yep."

"…"

"…can we please make out now?"

"You finally learned how to ask for things?" You ask, shuffling over the couch cushions toward him.

"Yeah, I studied for years," Satoru hummed, laying his hands on your waist and pulling you forward.

Your lips come together, and the most agonizing bliss washes over you.

Nothing else feels like this. Nothing.

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Recent Search History:

Whats codependantcy

(Did you mean codependency?)

Is codependantcy bad?

(Did you mean codependency?)

Codependent relationships example

Am I a bad person?

I'm in love and it hurts

I feel insane

Does she think about me as much as I think about her?

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"Oh my god, stop asking,"

"I thought consent was a good thing—"

"Yes but not every two minutes," you whimper, wrapping your legs tighter around Satoru's waist, "Please just," you can't finish. You've never wanted him this bad. It's embarassing.

But Satoru is flushed too, mouth wet and half open, eyes lidded and entranced with you.

"Before…" you start, and Satoru dazedly meets your eyes. You feel yourself getting flustered—his looks really were unfair.

"A-ah um, before you always said I wasn't your type, um…" you don't let on how much it got to you, all of the comments about you being "plain" and "a 6 at best".

But you were only human.

Satoru's brows bunch together, and he sighs, letting his forhead fall against your shoulder.

"I was just being a dick…" he murmured, "Um…fuck I really am the worst,"

"No," you sit up slightly, "No, you don't get to sulk. You made your bed, now lie in it."

"…well I'm lying in a bed now," he says, pulling away from your shoulder just enough to look at you.

"You're annoying," you sigh, pulling Satoru's face towards yours and kissing him again.

✿❀✿❀✿

How do you want it?

I don't know.

Please—tell me.

I don't know just…stop asking. Do what you've always done.

…ok

✿❀✿❀✿

"Whatever I want?" You ask, glancing up at him.

"Anything," he says, "Please, get anything you want. Even if it feels impulsive."

Earlier in the hotel room, Satoru laid panting beside you and asked, "What do you, haah, what do you like to do around here anyway?"

You'd shrugged, "Eh, there's nothing to do around here besides eat and shop. I like the movies best. The malls are nice too, especially the more expensive one, though I mostly just do window shopping there…"

"…window shopping?" He'd asked. You realize it must be an unfamiliar concept for someone like him, seeing something you want and not having it immediately.

He looked at you strangely after you explained. The next thing you knew, you were at said expensive shopping center, with Satoru encouraging you to pick out everything you wanted.

"Well," you say, sipping a 10 dollar pistichio latte, "This is definitely a start."

Satoru smiles indulgently at you. He's been looking at you the whole time, actually, watching you flit about every store, urging you towards the most expensive items and laughing at your reactions to the prices.

He kept steering you towards clothing stores too, and picking out clothes for you like a fussy parent. He did have good taste to be fair.

You were still flustered though— Satoru didn't do anything to hide the dark satisfaction that crossed his features whenever you emerged from a dressing, room covered head to toe in obscenely expensive clothes he'd chosen for you.

"Anywhere else you wanna go?" He asks, watching as you finish your coffee.

"Hm," you look down at the floor surrounding your table. An army of bags were at both of your feet. Satoru insisted on carrying everything, but after a while he just looked like a walking pile of bags himself. So you took as many as you could carry. Even between the two of you, it was still overwhelming.

"…maybe we should head to the car and uh, put these away,"

Satoru looked down at the bags, laughing, "Sheesh, did we really get this much?"

"I guess so," you say.

"Then, let's go see a movie,"

"Which one?"

"Whichever one is most popular at the time of reading," Satoru says.

You both go see a movie that's very relevant. You let yourself order items off the theater menu you didn't know existed.

"Why's this place have waffles?" Satoru snickered.

"Why're you soaking yours in so much syrup?" You ask, watching as the waffle practically drowns.

"The more sugar the better," he says simply.

The person in front of you turns and scowls, and you smile apologetically.

But Satoru wouldn't stop talking during the movie and making you laugh, and his hand somehow made its way up your thigh.

Some part of you wanted to recoil, but another part of you wanted to lean into the tough tenfold.

This isn't normal you think, lacing yours and Satoru's fingers together.

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"How's your head, by the way?"

Satoru glances away from the road at you, confused. You hesitate, then clarify, "When I slugged you with my graduation mug."

"Oh!" He says, "Yeah I'm fine. You should've hit me harder to be honest."

"Yeah I get it, you're the worst. God, how do you still manage to keep the conversation about you?" You ask, exasperated.

"Hey you asked me this time," he says.

"Ah, this is it," you say after a few minutes. Satoru nods, pulling in front of your house.

"I'll help you bring the bags in," he says, and you nod.

Your parents were the type to have the garage door closed even when they were home. You never had any way of knowing if they were gone until you went inside.

And alas, they were home.

Your mom stares at you and Satoru from the kitchen. You watch her work through everything in her head, watch her eyes dart from him, to you, to the host of shopping bags you're both carrying, to the red spot on your neck that you didn't bother covering up.

"Oh my," she whispers.

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A/N: HERE ARE THE POLLS PLEASE VOTE THANKS

Just realized you can't have two polls in one post so here's the other one

Thanks for reading sorry for all the chaos lol

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elysiansparadise · 20 hours ago

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I love your content, you write so beautifully and passionately. The depth and understanding you have is so refreshing to read. I have an 8th house sun too! May I please request a post on pluto transiting ascendant in Aquarius :) xx

Hello my dear, thanks for loving my content. I truly appreciate your words. Here I have some observations.

Aquarius Pluto (T) in the 1st house

There will be a profound shift in your self-perception, which will eventually be reflected in others as well. You will recognize patterns you've acquired over time that don't belong to you, things you may have adopted from the environment you grew up in or the one you interact with, and you will work hard to put all of that aside so you can become the person you want to be. You will realize that there are many things that don't belong to you, things you weren't really, and it will be a period in which you will free yourself from patterns, philosophies, and ideals that don't represent you. You will take a step toward authenticity.

You'll detect patterns not only in yourself, but also in those around you. Don't be surprised to feel like you're the one putting an end to certain "chain" or inherited behaviors.

You may face a period of introspection in which you may prefer to rely on yourself and/or in which your social battery is easily depleted. You will need more time alone to connect with yourself, figure out what you want, and who you want to become.

You'll have a stronger presence, and many may perceive you as unapproachable. You'll often have to make the first move, as people may feel intimidated. This also shows magnetism.

“You've changed a lot,” some might say about you. I see it more as an “awakening,” realizing what things or people you want to let go of, what things you want to change in your life, and what you want to get rid of. A purge at its finest.

Life changes daily, for us and for others. But this transit shows us that while you will be decisive when it comes to initiating changes, those that are unexpected or beyond your control can create a lot of discomfort, and you may be reluctant to go with the flow.

A path to reconnecting with your true self, the search for who you are, and the conviction that you will no longer allow anyone else to project themselves onto you. This, in turn, will lead you to rethink and create new boundaries. It won't be an easy journey, since often what makes us realize this is the experience itself. You may experience things or meet people who will teach you the importance of standing your ground and honoring yourself.

#aquarius pluto #pluto #aquarius #1st house #ascendant #rising #aquarius pluto transit #aquarius pluto T #astrology #natal chart #birth chart #astro observations #astro notes

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bikananjarrus · 2 days ago

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i think my biggest critique of the first arc was the ferrix crew storyline. i didn't really feel like we spent enough time with them, and on a personal level with the characters (namely bix, brasso, and wilmon, less about cassian in this case), where they are now, how they feel about that, i felt like it was missing something.

(quick disclaimer that i've only watched the episodes once; my opinion might change upon a rewatch and upon seeing the rest of the season, but for now this is my first-viewing takeaway.)

it felt a bit like the writing sacrificed getting deep and personal with our ferrixians in exchange for pushing the discussion about them being illegal workers/immigration/etc. we've obviously got some very real world parallels with the discussions around illegal workers, and important discussions at that, but it would have been nice to hear from bix, brasso, and wilmon how they feel about being forced to leave ferrix. what does it mean for them to live somewhere that's not their home? it would've been nice to hear them mention jezzi or any of the other ferrixians, and how they wish they could speak with someone back home to see how things are. i think the serious topic of immigration and illegal work would've hit harder if we'd gotten to see first-hand how these displaced characters are feeling.

i also wish we had gotten to see the three of them (four counting bee) interact with each other more, especially in the lead up to brasso's death. again, i felt like we sacrificed seeing the bond that bix, brasso, and wil have with each other to make room for them interacting with new characters, namely talia and beela. (nothing against her) but i didn't really see the point to talia's character, other than having a friendly face to leave bee with at the end (even though they could've left him with beela). this show has done an incredible job in the past at making me care about a brand new character in about 2 minutes flat (see even the beginning of 2x01 with niya's introduction), but i don't think that thought and care was put into talia. i didn't get a sense of her personality at all, and it felt like she was just there to be there. they could've still had her there, and just made her friends with the ferrix crew. but i didn't really get much out of her and brasso being an item. (i actually thought brasso's friendship with kellen had more depth, so we could've just focused on that instead, if they wanted to establish that the ferrix crew had a foothold in the community.)

beela had only a bit more personality, but not much. i think the connection between her and wilmon could have been more interesting, and could have had more depth, even in a short amount of time. if we'd gotten a better chance to understand why wilmon is drawn to her and her to him, it would've made him running off to her when they're getting ready to leave more understandable. and then the consequences of him leaving to see her, causing brasso to go after him and get caught in the stormtroopers' crossfire, would have hit harder.

and as for brasso's death, i predicted that he would die in this first arc, so that wasn't surprising. but it was a real blink and you miss it death, which felt a little odd. (*i* missed it anyway; idk about anyone else, but i didn't even realize he'd gotten hit until cassian saw his speeder crashed and smoking.) we've had very quick sudden deaths before (look at most of the aldhani crew) but this felt so distant compared to how beloved brasso is. and considering that we didn't get that much screen time with him before it happened, i really was just left wishing for something more from the whole ferrix crew's storyline before they lost brasso.

i hope we get to talk about brasso and ferrix more in future episodes, since bix and wilmon (and cassian, of course) are still around. but it does make me a little nervous about these year-long time jumps.

#i really was hoping for more from this storyline. i would've liked to learn more about the rau city. more about how they've settled in #i feel like they didn't go quite as in depth with this storyline as they could've. or took as much time with it as they have in the past #i just want to know more #andor spoilers #brasso #bix caleen #wilmon paak #andor #andor season 2

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hbheavensent · 2 days ago

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Mammon/Leviathan

Ugh my favorite toxic situationship, let's rock and roll-

OH AND LIGHT TW FOR CANNIBALISM FOR LEVIS BACKGROUND

Let's start with Mammon, being that he's my favorite cannon!sin and that I didn't change much with his design. Really I just wanted to see him in more outfits/makeup so I just played around with that idea. Leaned into the rich guy circa 1600s, somewhat inspired by the fat officials from Demon Souls but only loosely. Really I think his designs works really well already but I am bias. In terms of his personality, I'm changing the fact that he's portrayed as stupid- it doesn't make sense to me that the guy handling all of the money is dumb as a box of rocks. So I made him generally very smart, just easily distracted and silly.

He is also another subject of me exploring how each sin handled falling from grace, Mammon in particular went full fledged head in the sand. He could never handle the fact that he could never have Heaven again, could never have his old body, the vast wealth of knowledge that Heaven had him be in charge of. Back in Heaven I've pulled from a couple sources and also written my own stuff in but in THIS version he was a Principality Angel in charge of the Celestial Treasury of Heaven. A celestial vault containing not just material wealth but also knowledge, wisdom, and spiritual riches, which he could bestow upon those deemed worthy, though often doesn't. Mammon was Angel of Prosperity before falling shortly after Beelzebub. He professes that there's no reason to talk about Heaven and fully leaned into his sin immediately because processing anything is way too much for him.

Mammon, aside from Levi and Lucifer, has the hardest time maintaining relationships with anyone including the other sins. So he's wildly lonely, which is hard to talk about without bringing up Sariel (a character I've written in) but we'll get there later.

However there is one person who puts up with Mammon on the regular...

Leviathan went through a lot of changes, while I like the conjoined twin look something about the way it was animated felt... off. Levi struck me as uninteresting compared to the rest of the sins. A lot of what I did was just smash the two halves of Levi together, give her some bangles and jewelry, and make her a sick ass fish form. About that fish form, there's a slight glow behind the inside head which is actually from her sister's broken halo! Let's get into that. So I'm using the interpretation that The Crusaders Academy uses because it's metal as all hell and I can't find any other interpretation where Leviathan has twin specifically (makes me wonder if Viv saw the same wiki page? I dunno. It's a neat wiki but I have no idea where it came from.) The way I'm writing it is that the Levithan we know used to be a run of the mill Angel along with their twin sister Ziz who served under Uriel. Uriel was an Archangel who presided over wisdom and the Archangel who took over the Treasury of Heaven after Mammon's fall. Both Levi and Ziz were close with Mammon, though Ziz was much more friendly and a touch ditzy which made her endearing. Very likable, where Leviathan sort of fumbled every interaction. After sin was created by The Apple Incident, Levi found herself drifting more and more from social interactions with anyone as they filled her with unending jealousy. She was friends with all of the sins before they fell but only by account of being friends with Mammon, by the fact that she was there but no one really knew her.

As people fell and titles were gained across Heaven and Hell, Levi and Ziz took up their jobs as sort of secretaries under Uriel. Uriel took a shine to Ziz's creative spark and really became close with her while Levi was struggling internally with her sin. Eventually it came to a head, and by a technicality, Angel's mouths are not considered holy weapons. Leviathan ate her sister alive, by some merit Ziz is alive still. Her halo was taken by Raguel only after Sariel, Sera, and Uriel walked in on the gory scene. A part of Leviathan's punishment is to have half of her face and body be reminiscent of her sister for all of eternity. That artistic spark and sense of fashion is all Ziz, Leviathan just stole it.

While being one of the lowest classes of Angels in Heaven, Leviathan is the only sin to technically still have a halo.. even if it's not outward. It burns sometimes in Levi's throat I imagine. Levi is incapable of having healthy relationships, while Mammon struggles he could be worked around in order to maintain healthy distance with someone. However, his relationship with Levi is anything but healthy. Levi is temperamental, always assuming the worst, the definition of "you KNOW other women???". Levi is also the type of person to hold back any grievances in order to appear socially acceptable and then blow up at someone for not being a mind reader. Mammon has to walk on glass around her, which is notably hard for him. They fight a lot but Mammon keeps coming back. Partially because he can't let anything go, but also partially because he understands your sin ruining your ability to maintain any social aspects of your life. Who else is going to put up with her if not him? Who would put up with him if not her or the people he literally PAYS to stick around? And the part he wont acknowledge, having Levi is almost like having Ziz again. Almost. Levi on the other hand, absolutely knows why Mammon sticks around. She finds comfort in the fact that he is a social disaster, in turn making her look better. She knows he'll always come back. It's a constant that she really needs to keep around. If he wants to pretend he still has her sister, then he sure can do that. She'll just yell at him when it gets to be too much later.

Anyway I love her, she's so fucked up. I have more thoughts really but this is a LONG ASS POST-

#helluva boss critical #hazbin hotel critical #helluva redesign #hbheavensentdesigns #leviathan #leviathan helluva boss #mammon #helluva boss mammon #mammon hb #I could kiss Mammon on the mouth but you didn't hear that from me

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cuz-reasons · 3 days ago

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Ok now that temporal mistake is finished, I'm gonna make a sappy post.

I've always loved writing stories. I was very much that kid trying to write full length novel by hand in notebooks. Eventually, that hobby fell to the way side and while I've always been in different fandoms, I've never really had much motivation to write fanfic

Then legends arceus came out and I went fuckin nuts to put it lightly

I never thought that after I posted In Memorium, a little fic I wrote in a hour on my phone, I would end up here. But here we are, 2 and half-ish, 100 (and 1) fics, and just over 500k words later

I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who ever interacted with any of my fics! The submas fandom is really cool and y'all are so sweet! It's really helped me get inspired to write more and given me the motivation to actually do so!!

So thank you all again, and here's to another ungodly amount of words lmao

#submas #FUCK IT MAIN TAG I LOVE YOU GUYS #but honestly i cant say it enough #yall are amazing #i hope yall have a good day!

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maraudersilver · 2 days ago

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DOE EYES (Haymitch Abernathy x Fem!Reader) Chapter 4

Masterlist Warnings: alcohol consumption, mentions of sexual abuse.

A/N: I wanted to write some cute interactions with Haymitch before all the angst starts. Comments and reblogs are appreciated 🥹

Wc: +2,4K

You had been unequivocally wrong by thinking the night before would be enough to satiate the Capitol. After patching Finnick up where he needed and a long conversation until sunrise, you both went to sleep peacefully until Andromeda bursted in and got you both dressed for a noon parade.

How they succeeded in erasing the dark bags underneath your eyes was still a mystery. But the Capitol was known for their achievements in aesthetics, after all.

The square garden was filled to the brim with both Capitol guests and the poor victors who couldn’t escape the act. Your sunset orange gown pressed to your body uncomfortably, too tight and lacking enough silk that your skin was graced in eternal goosebumps. Only worth for the hungry gazes of the Capitol vultures.

Finnick had been snatched from your arm the moment you stepped a foot on the rose garden, the first part of the Capitol’s most beloved attraction at the centre of their city. White, red and pink roses surrounded you, scent almost intoxicating. It didn’t take long for people to approach you, both for gnawing at your skin and for the ‘funny accent’ Rainwall told them about.

“You look delicious, my dear,” an old man fawned over you. His hair was grey, whether of age or fashion was lost to you, and his teeth were too similar to the fangs of a cat that you almost guffawed out loud. Yet, in all of his mess, you could swear a thread of saliva was going down his chin. “That colour definitely suits you.”

“Thank you,” you say with a polite smile. “My stylist outdone herself this time.”

“No wonder with such a muse.” The man’s eyes were fixed on your cleavage, or at least that’s what you told yourself when his gaze went down to the valley of your breasts. “May I offer you a drink?”

Alarms went off in your head, shudders down your spine. “No, but I appreciate the offer.”

“No need to be shy with me, my dear. Here, try this one,” he insisted, clawing a glass of sparkling liquid in his hands. “Best one you’ll ever have.”

“I do not doubt it, sir, but I have to decline your offer.”

“It’s impolite to turn off a drink, kid!” He snapped, and as if shaken by his own aggressiveness, his wicked smile returned to his lips. “Maybe you’ll be more comfortable in a private room? There are excellent options in my mini bar that I’m sure you’ll appreciate. That mouth of yours surely has a thing for taste.”

You looked around in aggravation, looking for something that could save you. You didn’t want to drink, you didn’t want to go to a private room, and you didn’t want to go with him. “I… Really, I can’t.”

“And why is that? Don’t be so prudish, child,” he scoffed, pushing the glass to my chest. “Drink.”

If you kept declining, you knew it would somehow reach Snow’s ears, and that was the last thing you wanted. You were already on a very thin tightrope, your dear ones didn’t deserve more trouble because of your incompetence. So you raised the glass, bringing it little by little to your not so awaiting lips. But before the sweet taste of wine touched your tongue, someone collapsed against the man.

There were gasps around, and it took you a couple seconds to register your own. There, the man laid on the floor, whining and complaining the same way a snobbish child would. And before him stood, yet slightly crooked to the right, Haymitch Abernathy, with his incredible talent of not spilling one drop from his glass. He looked around in confusion, eyes lost to inebriation and his suit unraveled.

“You dimwit! Look where you’re going!” The man yelled from the ground, a couple Capitol guests pulling him to his feet.

Haymitch just turned to him in disinterest, and you had to make a huge effort to not laugh.

“You district scum can’t even behave normally.” Gruffing, the man turned around, forgetting you and his task of bringing you to bed while he muttered something about manners and animals.

When he was out of sight, you covered your mouth to giggle at the situation. Haymitch was still stumbling from side to side, and thanks to his alcoholic habits, you had been spared of prostitution for a while.

But then his grey eyes focused on you and the clarity in them had you startling. You looked around, people were still too fixated on you, so you approached your fellow victor and grabbed his arms in an attempt to ‘conceal him’. “C’mon, Haymitch, let's sit down.”

He followed you without complaint, leaning on you to keep the performance alive while you two made your way to the loveseats at the far corner of the garden, usually reserved for more public displays of affection between Capitol and victors.

Once sat, it was silent for a moment before you shared a glance with Haymitch and both of you laughed again. It was ridiculous, really, but you couldn’t stop laughing, his was too contagious.

It took a few minutes to calm down, and finally silence settled again. Different to any other time, it was comfortable. He had saved you, after all. You wondered why.

“Hey, Haymitch.” He hummed, sipping from his drink lazily. “Why did you do that? That was quite a risky move, you know?”

“Nothing left to lose,” he shrugged his shoulders, and something in you twisted. “And he kept calling you kid. So much for someone who wanted to get in your pants.”

Haymitch scoffed, a scowl of disgust painting his aged features. Seeing it like that, it made the situation even more perturbing than what it already was.

“Well, thank you.” There was a pregnant pause before you resumed your questioning. “So not drunk yet?”

“After years of drinking you get awfully tolerant. Pain in the ass if you wanna get hammered.” You nodded, watching his spluttered form twisting his glass in circular movements. He hadn't looked at you once since you had shared a laugh, his eyes lost to the horizon. “My turn.”

“Turn?”

“For questioning, Doe Eyes. What else?” He arched a brow, his eyes boring into yours, and you felt the familiar warmth of blushing cheeks. “You’re not much of a drinker.”

“That’s not a question,” you said defensively, and Haymitch just chuckled.

“No need to take out the claws, Doe Eyes. Wonder if you even have those,” he snorted.

“Why do you keep calling me that?” you asked exasperated.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Haymitch shook his forefinger, tutting. “Your turn is over. Now answer. Why every time someone offers you a drink you look like a deer caught in headlights?”

You gaped, an offender frowned forming in your forehead. “I… You- I don’t look like that!”

“Sure, Doe Eyes, whatever lets you sleep at night.” He chuckled again, finishing his drink before calling over a waiter and fetching himself three more glasses. At your inquisitorial glance, he just grinned a smug smile. “Figured we’d be here for a while. Better be prepared.”

You scoffed, standing up. “No, we’re not.”

“C’mon, Doe Eyes, I was joking.” He pulled you down to your seat by your arm gently. “So? I answered your questions.”

Talking about how you saw every dead tribute whenever you drank was not something you were prepared to share with the drunken victor, so you rapidly thought of something else. “I get indigestion.”

It was clear he did not believe you for one minute, his eyes almost bored. Surprisingly, he shrugged his shoulders and let it go. At the end of the day, he didn’t care that much. “Your lose.”

“Yeah,” you breathed.

“Maybe we can get you a bottle of water by the bar.” It surprised you how fast he got up from his seat, three glasses empty on the little table that separated both loveseats. “Stop gaping and stand up, we don’t have all day.”

You nodded, following him inside the building next to the garden, where the bar was empty. Who would pay for a drink when outside the waiters were strolling around with free booze?

“Not paying for your water, though. I’m not a gentleman in case you haven’t noticed.”

That made you laugh again, especially when you saw the smug grin on his face. It was strange to see Haymitch smiling at all, but it was nice. Next to your stools there were white lilies, contrasting with the elegant roses of the garden. How curious, you thought.

You both paid for your drinks, you were more than happy to get a grab of water, and made your way to the loveseats by the rose garden again, which had remained unused. You wondered if Finnick was already done, or if whoever took him was making the most of it. Your stomach churned in response.

“How’s the water?”

You furrowed your brows again, looking at Haymitch with an amused expression. “Tasteless?”

“Thought so.”

You giggled, and he just smiled slightly. “And your drink?”

He sighed, shaking the glass in circles. “As much as I hate to admit it, the Capitol really has the good stuff.”

You nod, swallowing a chuckle. “Yeah, my father’s coworkers are always complaining about the shit they sell at the liquorery.”

“You have liquoreries?”

“Um, yeah. You don’t?” Haymitch shook his head, brows furrowed. “Oh. So how do you get booze then?”

“Illegally.”

“Ah.”

Haymitch snorted. “Fucking bullshit. You get liquoreries.”

“Well, we didn’t before.” At this, Haymitch lifted a brow. “They were installed after I won. Like a couple months after my Victory Tour.”

At this, the fellow victor tutted, reclining in his seat. “Interesting.”

“How so?”

He shrugged his shoulders again, sipping from his drink. He knew something, it was clear by the condescending grin hiding behind the glass, but it was also clear he wasn’t going to share his thoughts so freely in a bugged space. “You just drink water, then?”

“And alcohol free refreshments when I’m here.”

He shook his head. “You’re better than me. Facing all this sober?” He scoffed again, finishing his glass. The fourth? Fifth one? since he saved you from the man. “Oh, I almost forgot. Heavensbee was looking for you.”

You groaned and squeezed your bottle of water. “Whatever for?”

“Dunno. He just told me that.”

“Aren’t you a great informer?” you said sarcastically, at what he chuckled.

“I’m no one's mailman, Doe Eyes. If you want to know, figure it out for yourself.”

You bit your lip. Plutarch had already said the day before that he wanted to have a word with you. Maybe he wanted a performance? You hadn’t sang live in ages. “Maybe later.”

“Comfortable here?” Haymitch teased, and you tittered.

“Absolutely. I love to spend my time with drunken assholes.”

At this, Haymitch guffawed. It wasn’t that funny, but the drinks were surely affecting him by then. It was so contagious, though, that you ended up following his lead.

“Aren’t you a delight, Doe Eyes?” he questioned ironically, rolling his eyes when he had calmed down.

“That’s what I’m always told.” You looked at your nails pettily, feeling the corners of your lips twitching.

“By whom? Your mom? What other choices does she have?”

It continued like that for a couple hours more. Bantering with Haymitch was fun, he was fun. If you told yourself that a few months before, you were sure your past self would check if you had been replaced. Yet here you were, laughing and bickering with the man you thought was nothing more than the District 12 drunken victor.

“Mind if I join you?” You looked up and saw Chaff, a District 11 victor. You remembered seeing him around Haymitch quite a lot, especially during the parades.

“Only if you bring the liquor you owe me, you thief.”

In the very little time you had spent with Haymitch, you learned that more than half of his insults were actually spilled in good sense. And Chaff seemed to know, because he just chortled while lifting a couple of Nepenthe bottles in one hand.

“What type of man you think I am?”

Chaff took the seat in front of you, paying you no mind as he opened the bottles and filled both his and Haymitch’s glasses.

“Something for you, darling?”

You looked up from the bottles to see Chaff already looking at you with a kind smile. Before you could reply, Haymitch scattered even more and lifted his hands, swatting at his hair in Capitol fashion. “She gets indigestion.”

“Hey!”

“Am I tripping there, Doe Eyes?” At your silent glare, he just smirked. “Thought so.”

Both men toasted without words and drank until a bottle was emptied in less than ten minutes. Then, Haymitch took a look at you again.

“You know Chaff?” How he wasn’t slurring was a mystery to you.

“No, just from sight. Don’t tell anyone,” your voice dropped to a conspiracy whisper. “But Finnick tends to hog me.”

Haymitch hummed in amusement, and Chaff spoke between laughs. “Pleasure to meet you, darling”. Suddenly, he stood and pressed his lips to yours before quickly sitting again.

Haymitch cackled. “He’s very affectionate.”

You gaped at both of them, bemused and slightly offended. But then again, Haymitch had saved you from a perv, and he didn’t look like the type of man who would laugh at harassment. So you decided to trust him on Chaff reluctantly.

It ended up being the best thing you could have ever done, because both men spent the night narrating anecdotes of their time together in the Capitol and they were hilarious. Chaff was, in fact, a very kind, amusing man. Always a smile on his face, a laugh to share and a story at the tip of his tongue. No wonder Haymitch always orbited nearby.

And for the first time in a very long period of time, you were upset that your time in the Capitol was over. Haymitch was great company, better than you could have expected. And on the train back to District 6, after bidding goodbye to Finnick and plucking a couple dove feathers from your coat, you couldn’t help but think about Haymitch Abernathy, who little by little was becoming a very close acquaintance.

“Can I write you letters?” You had asked Haymitch when you were dismissed from the garden.

“Do whatever you want, Doe Eyes. But don’t expect a reply.”

Tag list: @beingalive1 @timessa @chivasgozilla @bey0nd-1he-stars @anakhroni3m @heidiland05

#haymitch abernathy x reader #haymitch x reader #haymitch abernathy #haymitch abernathy x you #haymitch x you #thg sotr #thg haymitch

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littlelambscandyland · 19 hours ago

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Hello! I've seen that your requests are open so if it's alright, is it okay if you write platonic yandere Tenth Doctor with a teen companion whom he just sees as his little one? And teen reader got so creeped out and tries to leave the TARDIS and him which in turn made the doctor forced to keep them in the TARDIS (kidnapping) with a special room already prepared for them Incase they tried to leave and it's basically a nursery where he would try to force the reader to age regress because in his words, reader is too young to make such assumptions and shouldn't be by herself.

Anyway thank you!

I'm literally living for this request rn. I really do think that the Tenth Doctor is a delusional yandere and I really love this concept and tying that in a little. I still feel new to writing for Doctor Who so I hope I characterized him properly. I hope you enjoy the story!

Surprise

^^Live reaction of when reader said she was going to leave^^

It's not that you didn't care for the Doctor, you just had to leave. It was all just too much. Every moment, every touch just felt wrong. Felt off. It was like he saw something that wasn't actually there when he looked at you. So you packed your bags, and you know he isn't happy about it, but you had to leave. Maybe you were overthinking, but you didn't think so. You thought this through, and things were weird.

Eventually, the little things just pile up. A few examples include...

Just the other day the Doctor insisted, in public, that you couldn't possibly understand how to feed yourself the food. Eventually you gave up fighting and were left with the alien hand feeding you in the middle of the foreign restaurant.

He's constantly explaining things to you like you were a toddler. Of course you thought he did that with all humans, but when he interacted with others, like Donna, he spoke to them like an adult. Yeah, you're a teen, but you're not a toddler, and you are definitely not stupid.

Another thing is, the Doctor insists on carrying you around places. He'll suddenly ask if you're tired then start carrying you around with his freaky alien strength.

You noticed he always pushes people away from you. Anytime someone tries to talk directly, unless it's one of the other companions, he stands between the two of you and dominates the conversation. It's quite isolating.

One time, during a particularly long adventure, he kept introducing you to people as his kid. Once again, he easily explained it was for the cover, but the way he acted and the way he said it felt deeper. The Doctor kept you by his side that entire trip; quite literally, as he held you on his hip half the time you were there.

Maybe it was just in his nature. You don't know anything about aliens, but you can't handle the oddities anymore. You need your life back without a lanky man, alien, dude trying to dote on you.

You didn't have too much to pack, most of your stuff was provided by the TARDIS. Of course, you wanted to take some more with you, but it just didn't feel right. You did pack some of the little trinkets the Doctor had gotten you over the past few months. Was it a few months or was it years? You haven't aged, so you're almost certain it's only been a few months, but then again, it feels like it's been a lot longer. You shake your mind clear and continue packing.

You throw your final outfit into your bag and zip it up. A sigh passes your lips as you sit on your bed. You feel terrible for leaving, you feel exhausted, you feel nervous, and you feel kinda liberated. You'll miss going on adventures, and you'll miss the Doctor. You just have to live your own life. You have to grow up, and it seems like he doesn't want you to do that.

A light knock startles you. Looking up you see the Doctor peeking his head inside nervously. You're glad he doesn't seem as upset as he was earlier when you told him you wanted to go home. You watch as he looks around your room. Seeing all the trinkets missing from your shelf and the suitcase on your bed he deflates a bit. Did he not realize you were serious? Watching the sad look in his eyes you assume he was more just hoping you weren't.

"All ready to go?" He holds an incredibly sad smile.

Guilt eats at your gut. "Yeah..."

The alien looks around one more time before clasping his hands with a forced enthusiastic smile. "Wonderful!" The Doctor looks at you for a second. "Well before you go I do have one last thing to show you."

You hesitate for a moment.

"C'moon one more mini adventure before you're off!" He smiles, almost devilishly. "We don't even have to leave the TARDIS."

"An inside adventure." You muse with a small smile. It wouldn't hurt. You couldn't lie, you were curious.

The Doctor holds his hand out to you with a bright smile. Slightly giddy, you grab his hand and let him lead you out of your room. Now that you think of it, that's another thing he enjoyed, he was always holding your hand. You both walk down the halls of the TARDIS in a silence that was much less awkward than earlier. The Doctor's mood already seems to have lifted from earlier.

After a few minutes you start to wonder more frequently where the two of you were walking. You always forget how big the TARDIS really is.

"What are showing me anyways?"

The Doctor smiles back at you. You always did look at him with stars in your eyes. "It's a surprise."

"Ugh, lame!" You jokingly complain.

Eventually you end up near a pretty familiar looking door. It was the Doctor's bedroom. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. You've been in there once or twice before. Your most prominent memory was when you were sick and the alien insisted on having you stay with him instead of sleeping alone.

"Why are we here?" You question again.

"Still a surprise." He leans down with a slight playful whisper.

He opens the door, swinging it open with a playful "Allons-y" and a gesture to go in. You roll your eyes at him, but follow in anyways. Waiting for him to direct you, you take a second to look around. The room looks as nice as you remember. It was the stars randomly placed that really interested you. The different decorations take your attention for a few seconds.

"Little Star?" The Doctor calls to you.

You were waiting for him to finally call you one of his random nicknames again. Either way, you draw your attention back to him. He grins wider as he points at a door. A door you don't remember being there before, but then you've never really investigated the Doctors room before.

"Well... Open it." He says with a dramatic push.

You grin, he really thought you were gonna make it easy on him. "What if I don't want to?" You challenge.

The doctor quickly falls into a playful scowl. "Oh, you know you want to."

You giggle at the goofy face he makes.

"C'moon!"

You laugh again before opening the door. Once again, your face scrunches with confusion when you walk through the door. You're greeted with a very colorful, very pastel room. No, not just a room, it was very obviously a nursery. Some of the items seemed off size-wise, like the crib was much too big for a baby and the princess dresses hanging on the rack wouldn't fit a child.

You're a bit frozen in place as you try to figure out just exactly why the Doctor wanted to show you this. Frozen as you try to figure out what exactly this is. When you shake out of it, you turn to look at him. Creepily, he's just staring at you with a big smile.

Seeing your confused face he frowns just a bit. "Don't you like it?"

"It's a nursery right?" He nods. "Then, why would I like it?" You're almost angry with the situation and the confusion he's causing.

Really you're just scared to be proven right. Scared to be proven his actions were far from normal.

"Well it's yours!" His laugh borders hysterics. A nervous, excited noise. "I wasn't going to show you so soon, but you've come to that silly conclusion that you can just pop off on your own, and well I can't just let you run off like that."

"Doctor, you're scaring me."

Your facade of calmness fails you as both your voice and hands shake. What the hell is he going on about?

"Oh," He steps forward and you step back. "I know. Such a small thing," The Doctor shakes his head. "So naive and sweet. Of course you're scared. But! That is one of the reasons why this is good for you. You're so young and you make all these silly assumptions, you can't possibly take care of yourself."

"Doctor, I want to go home." You interrupt his rant.

"The TARDIS is your home!" He sounds close to anger when he shouts it.

You can feel your chest tightening. The alien looks a mixture of manic and lovesick. You've never seen him like this. You were terrified.

"I've taken very good care of you, but I can take even better care of you here. Isn't that nice? No more worrying, no more problems." The Doctor comes up to you too quickly for you to back away and wraps you in his arms. "You're so young, pet, you don't know what's good for you," He says, running fingers through your hair. "But I do."

"I want to go home."

His arms tighten around you. "No."

Tears fall in lumps down your face. You try to push the Doctor off of you but he doesn't budge. Instead, he lifts you off the ground and starts rocking in his arms.

"Please, let me go." You sob out.

"Oh, I know it's so much to handle for you right now, but I promise it'll be okay. Papa's got you."

#age regression #age regressor #agere #little space #yandere agere #doctor who agere #caregiver the doctor #caregiver tenth doctor #platonic yandere

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