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fushitoru · 6 months ago

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chapter 3: the manor a bridgerton!au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, heir to a dukedom mr. satoru gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly

chapter summary ⸺ you and gojo have just uncovered your mothers' matchmaking scheme: a plan that sends you both to his extravagant countryside manor in kent, arriving a week earlier than the rest of the ton. the question remains—can you endure gojo's insufferable nature during this secluded stay? (8.3k)

prev. the aftermath | next. the game

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n krnfeknfkejrn i was so tired writing this chapter but used it to procrastinate on the reports and papers i have to write for internship/reports (wtf is quantum physics anyways). ty as always to @/sinn-clair for being the best beta reader <33333

Dear readers,

Apparently, last week, there was an altercation in Lady Itadori’s drawing room involving Lord Gojo, Miss Itadori, and a dog. The dog was the victor.

Furthermore, If one is to trust the betting books, then Lord Gojo shall be witness to wedding bells before the year is through.

As much as it pains This Author to agree with the betting books (they are written by men, and thus inherently flawed), This Author must concur in the prediction.

Duchess Gojo will soon have her daughter-in-law. But who she will be⸺ah, Gentle Reader, that is still anyone’s guess.

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

Mary Wollstonecraft’s A Vindication of the Rights of Woman⸺a work I have long heard whispers about but never fully encountered until now. Her words, as bold as they are revolutionary, have struck a chord deep within me. She speaks of the education and independence of women, of our capacity for reason and our right to be regarded as more than mere adornments to the lives of men. Her arguments are so meticulously crafted, so unwavering in their conviction, that they have compelled me to reflect on my own circumstances.

I confess, there is something intoxicating about the notion that women might be more than what society has so neatly confined us to be. Is it truly so outlandish to consider that we, too, possess minds capable of great thought and spirits yearning for freedom?

I cannot help but wonder if there will ever come a time when these two worlds might reconcile⸺the status quo and that of what the book articulates. When women might be both respected and fre

Before you could finish writing in your diary, you suddenly heard frantic footsteps down the hallway, leading closer and closer to your door. Nobara bursts into the room, and you look up at her in confusion and, partially, dread. Nobara wouldn’t be bursting into your room unless there was someone who absolutely couldn’t see what you were doing in your past time.

Before she could catch her breath, she wheezed out, “Your mother.”

You quickly hopped into action with practiced and routine movements. Lunging for the floorboard that had hollow space beneath it, you moved it so you could place the book and your diary underneath and quickly hide evidence of you reading scandalous and radical works.

Just in time, it seemed, as your mother walked into your room to see you on your bed.

She squinted her eyes in suspicion. “What were you doing?”

You averted her gaze. “Nothing, just daydreaming, Mama.”

Usually, she would prod further into the matter, but it seemed as if she was too excited for that. Clapping her hands, she exclaimed, “I have just got an exclusive invitation for you! One that could secure you a very good match.”

You gave her a quizzical look as she walked closer, sitting at the foot of your bed with an expression of barely contained glee. “We shall be visiting the Gojo estate in Kent!”

At the mention of his name, your left eye twitched, though your mother remained oblivious. “Indeed, Mama? As is every other lady in London, I presume.”

“No, no,” she replied, waving your quip away with a dismissive hand. “We are to arrive at the Gojo estate before the house party.”

Your heart sank, dread pooling in your stomach. Oh, no, no, no, no. A sudden pressure gripped your chest, and you found yourself clutching at the bodice of your dress as if to steady your racing heart. “Before the house party, Mama?” Your voice, despite your best efforts, came out higher-pitched than usual, though you tried to maintain a semblance of composure. “Whatever for?”

“To secure an advantage, of course!” she replied with a bright smile, as though the matter were the simplest thing in the world. “The Gojo family has extended a personal invitation for us to stay with them for a few days prior to the event. It is plain to see⸺he is quite taken with you. Even that dreadful Lady Whistledown has noted as much.” She smiled indulgently, reaching out to gently smooth a stray lock of your hair. “It is your natural grace and charm, my dear, that has made you the season’s diamond.”

As your mother continued to speak, the twisting in your stomach began to intensify, morphing from nausea into something sharper, something more akin to anger. You kept nodding, trying to maintain a slightly pained smile, but the thought of spending time at the Gojo manor, in such close quarters with him, became increasingly unbearable. The memories of your recent encounters⸺his biting remarks, his mocking gaze⸺were still fresh in your mind, and the idea that you were being pushed toward an engagement with him made your skin crawl. But you knew better than to express your true feelings to your mother.

“That is… unexpected,” you managed to say, choosing your words carefully. “Are you certain this is a good idea, Mama? Perhaps we might appear too eager and ward off other potential suitors, lest they mistake me as claimed by Gojo?”

“Nonsense!” she replied with a dismissive laugh. “If all goes well, you’ll be announcing your engagement at the house party itself!”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You could hardly breathe as the full weight of what she was saying sank in. An engagement. To Gojo.

You almost felt faint, but as the initial shock wore off, it was replaced by a simmering anger. How dare he? How dare Gojo make a game of this, toying with you as if your future was nothing more than a sport to him? And how could your mother not see that she was playing right into his hands?

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure, but the anger was bubbling up, threatening to spill over. “But, Mama, what if he does not wish to marry? What if he simply enjoys… toying with people?”

Your mother’s expression softened as she reached out to pat your hand, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you. “My dear, you are overthinking this. Men like Lord Gojo may seem playful and insouciant, but they are ultimately driven by duty. A man in his position knows the importance of finding a suitable wife, and you⸺my darling⸺are just the woman for the role. You are intelligent, accomplished, and beautiful. He would be a fool not to see that.”

Each word only fueled the fire of your anger. Duty? Suitable wife? You bit your lip, feeling the weight of her expectations press down on you like a suffocating blanket. But beneath that weight was a growing resolve, a refusal to be treated like a pawn in some grand game of power and prestige. Gojo might enjoy playing with others' lives, but you would not be his plaything.

You gave her a pained smile. “If you say so, Mama…” you replied, the anger now evident in the tightness of your voice.

“Of course, I do!” she declared, rising from the bed with a self-satisfied smile. “Now, we must begin preparations immediately. There is much to be done before we depart.”

As your mother closed the door, you stormed over to the floorboard, whipped open your diary and prepped your quill to furiously write:

Lord Gojo is a most intolerable wretch. Though his outward appearance might deceive many, there is an endless well of impurities within his character.

Indeed, God truly blesses the wrong soldiers with features such as his. However, I take pride in being one of His strongest for I possess the fortitude to resist the temptation of ending Gojo’s miserable existence myself.

Were Sukuna here, I daresay he would assist me in disposing of the body with great enthusiasm.

While the Gojo dinner table was stocked with the finest of meals⸺that deserving of a wealthy dukedom, of course⸺Satoru found himself eyeing one dish of all⸺the scones.

Observing his mother and father, who were engrossed in deep conversation, he realized he could make the move. As discreetly as he could, he stocked his plate with many of the treats. The cook, bless his soul, knew how to make scones exactly right: soft, yet hard around the edges that have Satoru drooling when he takes a bite in to get a burst of flavor. He discreetly tucked a few sweets into his pocket for tonight’s work session on some Gojo business, thinking himself subtle.

Satoru could continue writing endless love poems in his head towards his chef’s scones, But Lady Gojo, ever watchful, noticed his little scheme. She arched an eyebrow, her tone teasing as she remarked, "Satoru, darling, it astonishes me that you remain so fit with such a fondness for sweets."

Without missing a beat, Gojo flashed his usual charming smile and responded, “Perhaps it is because I am kept on my toes constantly by you, Mother.” His parents shared a laugh at this, clearly amused by his playful banter.

The Gojo dining fell into a comfortable lull once again, sounds of forks and knives scratching against porcelain plates. The silence was better, Satoru believed. Because he knew he was not going to be pleased at what his father had to say to him next, judged based on the thoughtful look he adopted while staring at Gojo.

“And how fares the season, Satoru? Have you made any progress?”

Satoru wanted to groan so bad, but instead, he straightened in his seat, the smile on his face now simply a facade. “I am confident all will proceed as expected, Father,” he replied, though his tone lacked its usual certainty.

Duke Gojo narrowed his eyes slightly, sensing something amiss. “Are you sure about that?” he probed. “You know very well, Satoru, that your inheritance of the title is contingent upon securing a wife and producing an heir. This is not a matter to be taken lightly.”

The weight of his father’s words hung in the air, pressing down on Gojo with the full force of expectation. Would it be eccentric if I decided to scream to the heavens right now?

Before Gojo could even formulate a response, his mother, ever the one to steer the conversation, interjected with a delighted exclamation. “Oh, it’s all handled, my dear! Did you not hear? The diamond of the season is arriving a week early to our manor in the countryside!”

All thoughts of screaming himself mute vanished as his mother’s words piqued his interest. Now, this was interesting. You? Spending time with him, under his roof, with no escape? The idea alone was enough to spark a dangerous gleam in his eyes. Satoru almost started cackling maniacally at the thought of pestering you until you broke that oh-so-perfect and uptight demeanor of yours, until you were reduced to exactly what you were: an unruly and highly emotional know-it-all.

One could say Satoru was very bitter about the losses he had bore for that horse race.

As a self-assured smirk started to creep up Satoru’s face, Duke Gojo blinked, surprised by the news. “A week early? That’s quite unusual,” he remarked, turning his gaze back to his son.

Satoru offered a sweet smile. “Yes, unusual indeed.” He knew his parents were well aware of the marital implications of such an arrangement, and he could feel their eyes on him, gauging his reaction.

But Duchess Gojo, satisfied with her announcement, continued with a gleeful smile. “I daresay, it’s all coming together perfectly. Even matchmakers could not have planned it better.”

Indeed, Mother! The prospect grew more delightful with each passing second, and the corners of his mouth curled into a sly grin. You were in for quite the week, and he would relish every moment of ruining your composure.

Yuji leaned in closer, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied your face. “Sister, did you perhaps neglect the chamber pot today?” he asked, his tone teasing but his gaze serious. “Your expression is quite telling.”

The carriage, though spacious, felt suffocating with the tension hanging in the air. Your mother sat by the window, her eyes sparkling with what could only be described as gleeful scheming regarding your imminent week at the Gojo manor. You, on the other hand, simmered with barely contained fury, with a pinch of nausea, your thoughts consumed with how you would confront Gojo at the ball you were all headed to. Yuji’s scrutiny only added to your irritation, his amused yet concerned face a stark contrast to your stormy mood. Across from you, Choso couldn’t suppress a snicker at Yuji’s comment, clearly enjoying the exchange.

You snapped, unable to contain your frustration any longer. “Yuji, if you do not cease your incessant prying, I shall see to it that you regret ever opening your mouth!”

Yuji flinched, visibly startled by your outburst. His confidence wavered as he stammered, “I⸺I meant no harm, sister.” He quickly extended his elbow to you, his movements almost robotic in their sudden politeness. “Please, allow me to escort you inside.”

You ignored the offer, your focus already elsewhere. The moment the carriage came to a stop, you heaved yourself off, stepping into the entrance. Grand revelry was before you; many suitors and young ladies were present, necks glittering with diamonds and hands adorned with gloves. Roving your gaze around, you saw him.

The world around you seemed to blur as your gaze locked onto Gojo, everything else fading into the background. A sleazy and handsome grin on his face, definitely talking about some useless nonsense.

Like a bull seeing red, you marched forward with determined fury, your sights set solely on him. He stood there, the picture of nonchalance, completely unaware of the storm heading his way. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, your anger propelling you forward with each step. Yuji and Choso exchanged confused glances as they lingered by the entrance, unsure of what had just transpired.

As you closed the distance, Gojo finally noticed you, his usual smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. But there was no time for his usual banter; you were ready to confront him head-on, no matter the consequences.

“What have you done?” you roared, striding towards Gojo. His head turned slowly, an amused and condescending smile creeping across his face. “I know this is⸺”

“Miss Itadori,” a voice hissed, dripping with offense. You turned to see Miss Yuki glaring at you. “Lord Gojo and I were in the midst of a very private conversation.”

You blinked, realizing that in your anger, you had entirely overlooked Miss Yuki’s presence. Though inwardly rolling your eyes, you knew it was best to maintain decorum. You curtsied in apology. “My sincerest apologies, Miss Yuki. I shall leave you both to continue your conversation.”

As you stepped back, giving them respectable space, Miss Yuki side-eyed you with a sharp “hmph!” before turning back to Gojo with a flirtatious smile.

“So, my lord,” Yuki began, her tone coy, “what type of woman would be to your liking?”

Gojo scratched his chin, feigning deep thought as he prepared his response. “Well, Miss Yuki, I would imagine she must be intelligent, accomplished, and⸺” He paused dramatically, taking her hand and kissing the back of it with a slow, deliberate drawl, “⸺and beautiful.”

You suppressed a sigh. Does he never tire of that tiresome gesture? It’s grown exceedingly dull.

Yuki’s pleased grin widened. “And what level of intellect do you find satisfactory, my lord?”

“Well,” Gojo mused, “I would prefer a lady well-versed in calculations. I often find myself making errors in my ledgers late at night, and a wife who could assist would be most valuable. Moreover, I would enjoy engaging in debates on scientific matters.”

Is he seeking a wife or an accountant?

The unusual nature of his request clearly left Yuki taken aback. She blinked, her smile tightening. “Indeed, Lord Gojo, these are rather...uncommon expectations for a wife.” Yuki then hesitated, glancing around as though searching for an escape. “Well, my lord, as intriguing as this conversation has been, I fear I must take my leave. My mother has been awaiting my return, and I would not wish to keep her waiting.”

She curtsied with a strained smile, clearly eager to extricate herself from the awkward situation Gojo’s peculiar standards had created. Without waiting for a reply, she swiftly turned and made her exit, leaving you alone to confront Gojo, who now had an amused look on his face, as if he had purposefully answered that way to ward Miss Yuki off.

You pointed your finger at him, wagging it accusingly as you hissed, “Gojo, I know this was one of your ploys.”

He let out an exaggerated groan, and he dropped all flirtatious pretenses he had adopted when conversing with the other lady. “Ah, yes. Please, by all means, heap more blame upon me for things entirely beyond my control. I derive immense pleasure from being the target of your needless and misdirected fury.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

With a strained smile, he sighed. “It seems our mothers have taken it upon themselves to orchestrate this entire charade.”

Your hands flew up in exasperation. “I cannot believe this! I would sooner perish than marry you, and heaven help me if I were ever to bear your children!”

“Spare me the theatrics,” Gojo replied, shaking his head as if amused by your outburst. He inclined his head slightly, gesturing toward something in the distance. “We are being observed.”

You followed his gaze and saw, across the dance floor, both of your mothers trying—albeit poorly—to appear inconspicuous as they exchanged furtive glances and whispered behind their fans.

You huffed in frustration, turning back to Gojo. “This is absurd.”

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against your ear as he leaned in closer. “But would it be so terrible to bear my children?” he murmured, his tone teasing yet somehow serious.

Your pulse quickened at his words, but you refused to let it show. You straightened your posture, meeting his gaze with as much poise as you could muster. “I can’t think of far worse fates, my lord,” you replied, a touch of sarcasm lacing your words.

Gojo’s smile widened, clearly undeterred. His hand brushed lightly against your arm, the touch fleeting but enough to send a shiver down your spine.. You felt a slight tremor of awareness course through you, and despite your best efforts, a hint of warmth crept into your cheeks.

He leaned in even closer, his voice a low murmur. “You seem flustered, Miss Itadori,” he said, his breath warm against your skin. “I must admit, the idea of a future with you is… intriguing.”

Flustered and at a loss of witty remarks, you stammered, struggling to find your voice. “I⸺I hardly think that⸺”

Gojo’s smile widened, clearly enjoying your reaction. He gently took your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. His eyes had this sultry expression to them, one that you didn’t need to ponder more than one second to know had no good intentions.

With that, he released your hand, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding and your cheeks aflame.

Gojo ⸺ 1, You ⸺ 1.

Choso crossed his arms, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Mother, why are we departing a week earlier than the rest of the ton?”

The carriage rocked gently, the luggage rattling with the motion. You slumped in your seat, weary from the long hours of travel, your thoughts drifting to the comfort of a soft, fluffy bed. Your mother, noticing the beads of sweat forming on your brow, handed you a handkerchief before turning to respond to Choso. “Well, my dear, your sister has caught the eye of Lord Gojo, and his mother has personally invited us to arrive early so that we may become better acquainted.”

Your eldest brother frowned, while Yuji stared vacantly out the carriage window, enraptured by the sheep present on the farm you were passing. “But why should we do so?” Choso pressed, his tone firm. “It is not as though Sister is lacking in suitors. Why should we entertain Lord Gojo’s interest above all others?”

Even in your heat-induced lightheadedness, your attention was drawn to Choso’s defense of you. A flicker of hope ignited in your chest; as the viscount, Choso held considerable authority over your mother, and he could potentially influence the matrimonial decisions made on your behalf.

“Lord Gojo is the most eligible bachelor of the season,” your mother insisted. “We would be foolish not to seize such an opportunity.”

Choso retorted quickly, “And Sister is the most eligible lady of the season. She is the diamond. If Lord Gojo’s eligibility rests on his title, would we not do better to pursue a match with Duke Nanami?”

You silently cheered Choso on, hoping he might sway your mother’s mind away from the ridiculous notion of a match between you and Gojo.

But your mother was not easily deterred. “I am quite set on Lord Gojo, Choso,” she said, her tone brooking no argument. “Your sister seems to have formed a rapport with him, and this is about more than just titles. We must also consider her inclinations.”

Both your mother and Choso turned their expectant gazes upon you, awaiting your response. Flustered and unwilling to directly oppose your mother, you swallowed nervously and nodded. “Whatever you think best, Mother.”

The remainder of the ride was marked by the satisfied smile on Lady Itadori’s face and the glowers⸺yet paired with concerned glances⸺from Choso.

The slowing of the carriage and its turn onto a smooth pathway roused you from the gentle lull of travel. You blinked your eyes open and glanced outside. A magnificent flower bed greeted you, a sea of blues ranging from the palest sky hues to deep indigo. But what truly stole your breath was the manor itself⸺more a castle than a mere country home. Its grandiose structure rivaled Buckingham Palace in regality, with elegant blue spires and stately beige stone walls that seemed to stretch towards the heavens.

The carriage came to a complete halt at the base of a grand staircase, where Duchess Gojo stood waiting, surrounded by footmen and maids all dressed in coordinated baby blue livery. As the carriage door was opened, you, your mother, Choso, and Yuji stepped out into the warm afternoon air.

“Lady Itadori!” Duchess Gojo descended the stairs gracefully, her arms extended in greeting. Your mother met her with an equally warm embrace.

“Your Grace,” your mother replied fondly, her face lighting up with familiarity. The duchess then turned her gaze towards you, her smile gracious and welcoming.

“And this must be our diamond,” Duchess Gojo said warmly, her eyes twinkling.

You offered her a polite smile and curtsied. “Miss Itadori, Your Grace. I am deeply honored by your hospitality.”

She waved off your formality with a flick of her hand. “The pleasure is entirely ours, my dear. We are delighted to have you with us, and I do hope that you and my son will find ample time to get better acquainted before the house party.”

You returned her smile, though unease stirred within you. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Choso and Yuji introduced themselves with the same practiced politeness, and after the formalities were concluded, the duchess clapped her hands together. “Come now, let us take tea. You must be quite fatigued from your journey. I shall have the staff see to your rooms so you may rest after.” She directed the servants to unload the luggage from the carriages and then motioned for you all to follow her into the manor. “To the drawing room!”

As you crossed the threshold into the manor, you were struck by the sheer opulence surrounding you. The high ceilings were adorned with intricate gold and blue detailing, and the walls were lined with endless portraits of the Gojo family. Your gaze was momentarily drawn to a portrait of Lord Gojo himself. The artist had rendered his eyes in a cold, oceanic blue—quite unlike the electric blue intensity they held in person. The painting failed to capture the vitality, and perhaps the insufferable smugness, that characterized his gaze.

You quickly looked away before anyone could notice your lingering stare, hurrying to catch up with your family as you reached a grand set of double doors. Footmen stood at attention as Duchess Gojo led you into a drawing room, elegantly appointed with plush furnishings and laden with trays of sweets.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” the duchess urged, gesturing towards the seating. She and your mother settled at a small table near the door, while you and your siblings gravitated toward the couches in the center of the room, where a tempting array of desserts awaited. As you sat down, maids swiftly arranged teacups and began pouring the tea. Yuji and Choso took seats across from you, their expressions reflecting varying degrees of interest—or lack thereof—in the proceedings.

“So, Miss Itadori,” You looked across the room to look at the duchess, who was leaning further to grab at her teacup and take a sip. “How do you find this season?”

“I find the suitors of this season very pleasing and kind, Your Grace,” you sat up fully, placing the scone you were eating down to fully face the duchess. “It has been a very extravagant season; I hope to continue my search to find a suitable match for myself.” Duchess Gojo nodded. “An admirable pursuit, of course. Is a love match what you are searching for?”

Her question hung in the air, and in that instant, you felt the weight of every gaze in the room fall upon you. The most searing of them all, though, was your mother's. You could feel it like a prickling heat against your skin, a silent reminder of the expectations that had been laid out before you long ago.

A love match. The words echoed in your mind, each syllable twisting into a knot of uncertainty. The very idea of love seemed foreign to you—elusive, abstract, something that belonged in novels rather than in the practical world of arranged marriages and alliances. Love was not what you had been taught to seek. No, your upbringing had been grounded in duty, decorum, and the quiet understanding that marriage was a contract, a union of convenience rather than passion.

But how could you say that aloud? How could you tell the duchess—tell anyone—that your dreams did not include the fiery passion of a love match, but rather the comfort of a peaceful arrangement? Your throat tightened, and the words that had once seemed so simple lodged themselves in the back of your mouth, refusing to emerge.

Your mother’s eyes bore into you, filled with unspoken expectations. You knew what she wanted to hear: that you were pursuing love, that you were open to it, that you were the ideal picture of a hopeful young lady seeking her romantic equal. But that wasn’t your truth. Your truth was more complicated, filled with desires for stability, understanding, and a life unburdened by the chaos that love so often seemed to bring.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the beat almost deafening in the sudden silence of the room. What were you supposed to say? How could you balance the delicate line between honesty and propriety?

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, you swallowed hard, the dryness in your throat making it nearly impossible to find your voice. The tension swirled within you, an unrelenting force that made you wish you could simply disappear. What if they could see through you? What if, with one wrong word, they uncovered the truth of what you really wanted—a marriage that was practical, peaceful, and devoid of the complications that came with love?

But that wasn’t something you could admit. Not here. Not now.

You forced a polite smile, hoping it hid the whirlwind of thoughts racing through your mind.

Before the weight of the room could settle further, the heavy double doors swung open with a soft yet deliberate creak. Every head turned in unison, and the air seemed to shift as your savior, Satoru Gojo made his entrance.

His attire was impeccable—a finely tailored waistcoat of deep blue, embroidered with silver thread that caught the light just so, paired with polished boots that gleamed as if they had never touched the ground. Yet, despite the formal attire, there was an air of disarming casualness about him, a kind of effortless elegance that made the room's grandeur seem almost insignificant by comparison.

His damp hair, still tousled from what must have been a recent bath, added an edge to his otherwise polished appearance. Droplets of water shimmered at the tips of his white locks, catching the light as he ran a hand through them. The scent of his cologne, rich and intoxicating, seemed to announce his arrival to you even before he spoke.

He strolled in with an air of ease. “It seems that our guests are finally here!” He moved with an easy grace, crossing the room in a few long strides, bowing slightly to the duchess and your mother before turning his attention to you. His gaze lingered on you for just a moment longer than necessary, a playful glint in his eyes as if he could sense the internal battle you had been fighting mere seconds ago.

“Miss Itadori,” he greeted you with a smile that could have melted the iciest of hearts, “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long.”

Your mother’s eyes lit up at the sight of him. “Ah, Satoru! Come, sit with us.” She motioned to the spot next to you with enthusiasm. “Why don’t you and Miss Itadori sit together?”

Choso’s sharp gaze followed him with a hint of suspicion, but he made no objection as Gojo accepted the invitation, seating himself beside you with an infuriatingly confident smile. Yuji and Choso remained on the opposite couch, observing the scene with varying degrees of curiosity and caution.

“Well then,” Gojo began, grabbing an obscene amount of scones to heap on his plate, “I was just at the

archery range earlier today. Quite the exhilarating sport. I find it sharpens the mind as much as the aim.”

Yuji, ever the admirer of feats of physical skill, leaned forward with interest. “Archery, my lord? That sounds remarkable! I must admit, I’ve always found it to be one of the noblest of pursuits.”

Gojo leaned back into the couch, resting one arm casually behind you on the backrest, his posture the very picture of relaxed confidence. He smiled at Yuji’s enthusiasm and continued, “Archery has long been a favored pastime of mine. It requires precision, patience, and an understanding of balance—qualities I find both necessary and rewarding. I've dedicated many years to perfecting my skill with the bow.”

He paused, allowing a slight, reflective smile to touch his lips. “In fact, just last month, I competed in the annual tournament at Her Majesty’s estate and managed to hit the bullseye in every round. Some of the other competitors remarked that it was almost unnatural, but I assure you, it is merely the result of countless hours spent at the range.”

Yuji’s eyes widened with admiration. “Every round? That’s incredible, Lord Gojo! Your dedication must be unparalleled.”

Gojo shrugged with mock humility, though his eyes glinted with pride. “It’s all in the discipline, really. Once you understand the rhythm of the draw and the release, it becomes second nature. Of course, the challenge is in maintaining that focus while under pressure. But I’ve found that to be the most exhilarating part—especially when the crowd is watching.”

Yuji nodded fervently, clearly enthralled. “I would love to see you in action, my lord! Perhaps you could give me a few pointers one day.”

Gojo chuckled, his gaze shifting to you for a moment before returning to Yuji. “Ah, I’m sure you’d take it quite well, Yuji. Perhaps we could all visit the range together during your stay here.”

The nonchalant arrogance in his voice, paired with the image of him lording his skill over others, irritated you. You couldn’t resist a small quip, your tone light. “Oh, indeed, Lord Gojo. Your accomplishments are so profound that I fear I might believe you are telling tales. Of course, I wonder with all this focus on archery, do you leave any time for pursuits that require a bit more… finesse?”

Gojo’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as they met yours, his gaze sharp with understanding. Yet, rather than take offense, he allowed a playful smirk to curl on his lips, his voice laced with teasing intent. “Ah, Miss Itadori, archery indeed requires finesse, I assure you. But perhaps you’d care to test that claim yourself? I’d be more than happy to provide a demonstration.”

As he leaned in closer, you found yourself all too aware of his presence. The scent of his cologne, a warm and intoxicating blend of vanilla and tobacco, filled the air between you, making it difficult to maintain your composure. His face hovered just near enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke.

“In fact,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone, “I’d wager that with a little practice, you might find yourself hitting the mark with more than just words.”

His proximity made your heart skip a beat, and you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. Despite your resolve to remain composed, the effect of his closeness and the quiet intensity in his voice left you momentarily at a loss for words.

Choso, sitting across from you, gave Gojo a sharp look. Meanwhile, Yuji was practically beaming at the prospect of an archery lesson from the lord himself.

You inhaled sharply, trying to steady yourself. “Perhaps,” you replied, your voice more controlled than you expected, though there was still a slight quiver in it. “But I’ve found that words can be just as powerful, if not more so.”

Gojo smirked, his gaze lingering on your face as if savoring the moment. The challenge in his eyes was unmistakable, and you could feel the weight of it, pressing against your own resolve. But you wouldn’t allow him to see just how much he affected you—at least, not yet.

Despite the warmth in your cheeks and the flutter in your chest, you held his gaze, meeting his playful intensity with your own determined calm.

However, your mother’s voice broke through the spell. “Oh, Your Grace, might we have a tour of the manor sometime?”

Duchess Gojo, clearly delighted to show off her home, nodded eagerly. “Of course! There is a pavilion overlooking our garden where we can play pall-mall, and the library is quite extensive.” Your interest piqued at the mention of the library, and you made yourself a mental note to explore where it was.

Then she turned her gaze towards you, her expression growing more conspiratorial. “And as for Miss Itadori, Satoru has promised to give her a personal tour of the grounds tomorrow after she takes rest today.”

You stiffened at the suggestion, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw Gojo lean in slightly, his mischievous grin widening as he whispered, “I’ll be sure to make it… thorough.”

You couldn’t sleep.

Restless thoughts kept you tossing and turning, denying you any hope of finding solace in slumber. The events of the day had left you drained, and after the conversation in the drawing room, you had collapsed into the plush, inviting bed. Sleep had claimed you almost instantly. But now, in the dark silence of the night, you awoke with a start, your mind refusing to quiet. No matter how you tried, you couldn’t escape the whirlwind of thoughts that stirred within you.

The prospect of the coming days loomed over you, a storm of anxiety brewing. Spending time with Gojo, of all people? Your mother’s insistent push for this potential marriage was unbearable. How could you possibly tell her that you despised the man? The mere thought of being bound to him in matrimony was a nightmare⸺marriage itself was daunting enough, but to an arrogant, loquacious, and insufferably self-assured man like him? It would be nothing short of Hell on earth.

With a frustrated sigh, you rose from bed and rubbed your face, trying to dispel the fog of sleeplessness. Perhaps a visit to the manor’s library⸺the one mentioned during tea⸺would offer some distraction. Grabbing a lantern, you slipped out of your room, treading softly down the stairs and into the main hallway. You moved with the caution of a thief; your mother would surely not approve of your nocturnal wanderings. Her voice echoed in your mind, sharp and reprimanding: “Good things never happen in the dead of night!”

As you opened the library’s grand doors, a soothing fragrance enveloped you⸺the scent of aged paper mingled with a hint of vanilla, a fragrance unique to this room. But what truly took your breath away was the sheer size of the library.

Bookshelves lined the walls, rising two stories high, creating a space that could easily have served as a grand ballroom. Cozy nooks beckoned you to sit, while further exploration revealed tables and armchairs tucked away behind towering shelves. It was a bibliophile’s paradise.

Your eyes roved over the multitude of volumes: ancient ledgers, personal family records, scholarly works on politics, astronomy, and the sciences. Though you did not often indulge in scientific pursuits, you found them fascinating whenever the opportunity arose. One book in particular caught your eye:

Observations on the Planet Venus.

Drawn to the back of the library, you found a large window offering a stunning view of the garden and pavilion, bathed in starlight. You couldn’t resist the allure of the table beside it, where you settled in and began to read.

“The planet Venus is an object that has long engaged my particular attention. A series of observations upon it, which I began in April, 1777, has been continued down to the present time…”

Time slipped away as you became engrossed in the text, the lantern’s light flickering softly as you pored over the meticulous observations and calculations. Your hands were soon stained with ink, evidence of the notes you had been feverishly jotting down on scraps of parchment you had found in a supply cabinet. A good hour or two had passed before you finally leaned back, stretching your tired muscles. You rested your head on your arms, intending to close your eyes for just a moment. Soon, you found that your sleepy brain forced you to reflect and muse upon your life, as a mind often does at three.

What a pity it was that you couldn’t bear the thought of marrying Gojo. If only he were different, you might have lived in this manor, with its perfect library, forever. You could imagine it: waking in the mornings in your fluffy bed, sharing the latest discoveries in astronomy and medicine with your handsome husband…

Truly, what a pity. Your sleep-deprived mind began to conjure an image of this imagined husband—tall, nearly Gojo’s height, with kind eyes and lips that would kiss you gently awake each morning (unlike Gojo’s snark). You envisioned banter over breakfast, late-night rendezvous in the library, and tender embraces in bed…

Before you could delve deeper into your fantasy, the sound of footsteps jolted you back to reality. The tread was deliberate, too similar to your mother’s for comfort, and panic flared within you. Your mind, already muddled with exhaustion, conjured the worst possible scenario—your mother finding you here, in the library where you had no business being at this hour.

Memories of her discovering forbidden books in your childhood flashed before your eyes, and your breath quickened in fear. Rising as quietly as you could, you pressed your hands over your mouth to stifle any sound, creeping toward a bookshelf to hide. But the footsteps drew closer, relentless in their pursuit. You felt like prey, cornered and desperate.

Getting out of your chair as quietly as you could, you squeezed your eyes shut and put both of your hands over your mouth so you didn’t start making audible gasps that would let the person know where you were immediately. Softly⸺but panickedly⸺walking towards a bookshelf, you hid as you traced the footsteps getting closer and closer to you. You tried to walk away from the sound, but it seemed like the person was listening intently for your movements. You couldn’t help but think you were like prey, cornered and desperate.

However, it was all for naught; your heart sank as you realized you had ended up in an alley of bookshelves that were up against the wall, essentially creating a dead end for you. The steps got closer and closer, and you drew yourself closer and closer to the wall. Your eyes was still shut, but you could hear the steps around the corner, coming closer and closer.

The footsteps were merely a few feet away from you, and in a moment of sheer panic, you blurted out, “I am sorry, Mother⸺”

“Excuse me,” came a voice that was decidedly not your mother’s. Your eyes flew open to find none other than Gojo, his blue eyes alight with offense. “Do I resemble your mother in any way?”

You blinked, struggling to process the sight before you. He was holding a quill, ink, and a stack of notebooks that resembled the ledgers you had seen earlier, along with a plate of scones that looked absurdly sugary.

“I—” you stammered, taking a sharp breath to compose yourself and paused, looking at Gojo⸺who was shooting you a petulant frown⸺take a big bite of his scone. “Your tread was uncannily similar.”

He paused, chewing on a scone with a sulky expression, while you averted your gaze in embarrassment.

When he finished chewing, he cleared his throat. “You must possess rather poor hearing to mistake a man of my stature for a lady.”

You shrugged, still flustered. “Perhaps you have an unusually light step.”

An awkward silence settled between you as Gojo took another loud bite of his scone. You hastened to break it. “It is quite late; I must take my leave. Good night, my lord.”

You bowed your head slightly and moved to leave, but before you could slip past him, he blocked your path, suspicion narrowing his gaze. “What business do you have in the Gojo library at this hour?”

“Nothing of import,” you squeaked.

At the not-very-innocuous tone in your voice, his eyes narrowed further. “Your tone suggests otherwise.” He leaned in, his gaze sweeping over you with exaggerated scrutiny. Noticing the ink stains on your hands, he quipped, “Were you tampering with important records?”

Your heart raced, knowing that he wouldn’t be entirely wrong to suspect you⸺what else would a lady be doing in a library at this hour? It was a no-win situation: confess to reading a book and risk your mother’s wrath, or be accused of something far more serious.

It was best to come clean. “I was merely reading a book,” you confessed. “I can show you precisely where I sat and what I was doing.”

Gojo’s expression softened, but he quickly continued his theatrical suspicion and hmmphed. “Of course. I must be certain that no mischief has been afoot.”

You led him back to the table where you had been reading. He sat across from you, depositing his supplies onto the table with a flourish and leaned back, crossing his arms. Ever the investigator, he watched as you retrieved the book. It bore no resemblance to the Gojo ledgers, which had the telltale blue cover and Gojo insignia, which consisted of six eyes.

Upon seeing this, he nodded in acknowledgment. “You are exonerated.”

At that, you sighed and clutched your chest. For a moment, you contemplated pleading with Gojo to keep your late library visit secret from your mother but you shot the idea down for two reasons. First, you would never lower yourself to plead with Gojo, and second, Gojo⸺ever the insufferable man⸺would definitely make sure to mention it to your mother and further exacerbate the issue.

As he began arranging his ink bottles and quills, preparing to work on his ledgers, you took a moment to observe him. He was dressed in casual attire, loose-fitting trousers and a white shirt with several buttons undone, revealing a hint of his chest. Slut.

It took you a moment to realize that he was settling in at your table. You frowned. “I beg your pardon, but this is my spot.”

Gojo looked up from his work, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “My dear, this is my library. Thus, it is my spot.”

You opened your mouth to retort, then closed it in frustration. He was right, after all. The entire manor was his. Your silence seemed to amuse him, as he returned to his ledgers with a smug smile.

Now, you didn’t really know what to do⸺should you go back to your room, or should you stay and continue reading the book? In your indecision, you continued to flip through the pages of the book, particularly because you wanted to finish the conclusion section before going to bed. But you soon felt his gaze upon you, the sound of his quill slowing down.

You didn’t look up. “Might I suggest you cease staring at me? It is quite improper.” “What? Why would I do so? To watch you peruse a tedious romance novel?”

“This is a book on the state of the art of astronomy.”

“Indeed? I confess, I am surprised.”

Your irritation flared and you whipped your head up to glare at Gojo. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

“I was under the impression that young ladies’ interests lie solely in matters of the heart.”

“So, in addition to gossiping, you are also prone to narrow-minded assumptions?”

Gojo scoffed. “Narrow-minded? It is a simple observation. Both men and women often indulge in fanciful notions of love.”

You scoffed. “Ah, so you hold yourself above other men. What are you, God?”

Gojo ignored your remark. “Those who read such frivolities are seldom engaged in serious thought or the appreciation of true art.”

“Romance allows one to experience love and joy. Does the prospect of happiness through art truly horrify you?” You stood, glaring at him. “Unlike you, my lord, ladies such as myself cannot frequent dubious establishments such as brothels to seek out lovers. Our reputations and futures are at stake.” Gojo began to respond, but you cut him off. “To deny women the solace of love is cruel. It is our only refuge in a world that forces us into unwanted marriages!”

When you were done ranting to Gojo, you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath in. Truly, this man could bother you like no other; only your siblings have caused this much heat on your face due to anger. The only sounds in the library was your rushed breathing, from anger.

Gojo scoffed. “You truly think too much.”

You offered a sharp scoff. "And you, far too little. Even Sukuna Jr. possesses more emotional intelligence than you."

"Do not compare me to that wretched creature," Gojo retorted.

You gasped in disbelief. "How dare you speak of Kuna in such a manner!"

"Then perhaps you should keep him from fouling the air around me!" he snapped.

A sly smile crept across your lips. "He merely knows whom to guard me against."

At reference of That Night, Gojo sighs exhaustedly. “Do you find trouble with the judgments I made that night? None of that was meant for you.”

“Are you quite serious?” You were in disbelief. Does he truly feel no remorse? Frustrated, you ran a hand over your face. “Your words may not have been intended for me, but they were no less cutting. I cannot abide such arrogance, my lord.”

Gojo leaned back, crossing his arms with an air of indifference. “Arrogance or simply honesty? I merely spoke the truth as I see it.”

“Your so-called truth is nothing more than disdain wrapped in wit,” you snapped, feeling your temper rise again. “You speak as though your opinions are infallible, as if you alone have the right to pass judgment on others.”

“I only say what others are too afraid to voice,” he retorted, his tone cool. “If that makes me arrogant, then so be it. But I will not apologize for it.”

“Of course not,” you said bitterly. “An apology would require some measure of humility, and that is something you clearly lack.”

Gojo’s eyes narrowed, his voice growing more clipped. “I fail to see why my opinions should trouble you so much. Perhaps you are simply too sensitive.”

Your anger flared at his dismissive tone. “Or perhaps you are too blind to see the harm your words cause. You claim to be honest, but what you truly are is cruel.”

“Cruel?” Gojo’s voice was sharp now, his composure slipping. “For speaking the truth? For refusing to coddle those who cannot handle it?”

“For refusing to consider the feelings of others!” you countered, your voice rising in frustration. “Not everything is a game or a joke, my lord. Your words have consequences, whether you acknowledge them or not.”

A tense silence fell between you, each of you locked in a stubborn glare, neither willing to yield. Finally, you shook your head, the weight of your frustration pressing down on you. “I cannot do this,” you muttered, turning away. “You are utterly impossible.”

You began to walk away, but Gojo’s voice cut through the silence. “Running away so soon?” There was a hint of something in his tone⸺something almost like disappointment⸺but you dismissed it.

You paused, glancing back at him with a hardened expression. “There is no point in continuing this conversation. You refuse to see reason, and I refuse to waste any more of my time on you.”

Without waiting for a reply, you turned on your heel and left the library, your heart pounding with irritation and anger. As the door closed behind you, you couldn’t shake the feeling of heaviness in your chest.

prev. the aftermath | next. the game

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n gojo the type to hit ur g spot every ti---WHAT WHO SAID THAT?

anyways yes we r getting (sort of) freaky in the next chapter (gojo busts in his pants seeing reader's ankles /j)

gojo when reader thought he was her mama

also tysm for all the asks, and comments, and love you guys have shown me. super motivating that you guys are enjoying the story and propels me to write more <3

comment, reblog, and send in an ask to let me know ur thots :3 memes are also appreciated <3

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retiredteabag · 5 days ago

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The eyes of the beholder

my masterlist

Sukuna genuinely does not understand the concept of physical insecurity.

He has pride unrivaled by any, his assurity never wavers, and despite his unique appearance, he does not consider himself strange.

Additionally, Sukuna has a hard time putting himself in the shoes of others. He deems himself perfect. You are his favored one, so he attributes the same to you.

He sees you as the height of beauty and never entertains a different notion. It would never come to his mind.

What? You think he's wrong when he says your beauty is unparalleled? You think him a liar? You don't trust his judgment? Truly, he does not comprehend insecurity.

"Not everything is about you, Kuna." You spin around in one of the estate's halls of mirrors and run you hands over the subtle stretch marks that appear on your hips.

You had been trying on formal attire for one of the estate's events, something both you and Sukuna hated. He could likely feel any unhappy emotion that permeated your space.

You never enjoyed having to critique whether or not something was flattering on your body and Sukuna was no help as he wouldn’t allowed criticism of you.

He thought it was a waste of time because to him, it all looked appealing.

That, and you both hated events. Balls, Galas, Auctions, the whole gambit. None of it suited your interests, and The King thought them a disturbance.

You finally pulled on your original clothing, ruffling it this way and that so it would fall just right, and stepped out from behind the hall's flowing curtains.

"You wound me when you say things like that." Sukuna had his head leaned back against the wall with his eyes closed.

"I'll let everyone know just how well I can wound their King." You scoff and roll you eyes.

"Heavens, don’t they know?” He sits up. All four of his red eyes glower at you as if you've cast some kind of spell his way. "Why does this upset you so? Haven't I said that flaws hold no residence within you?"

Your lips are pulled into a frown. You know he couldn’t possibly understand, at first, it felt somewhat invalidating. His mindset was so far from yours, of course he would think it skewed.

"Don't you just think that because I have unfortunately found favor with you?" You begin to fold the options that the seamstresses had brought you as he huffs at your choice of words. "You were sculpted perfectly as you know, you and I are different."

He grumbles, having heard your complaints before. But you continue before he can take issue with it.

"My skin has these markings, and my thighs touch when I stand, my frame is far from ideal-" You turn to him now, "-and I cannot always love how things fit me as you do."

It's not that you're actually upset, just somewhat flummoxed by The King of Curses mindset.

Sukuna had sat up as you spoke, and now his posture bends toward you. He wears the silliest face you have ever possibly seen him produce and it almost makes you laugh.

His mouth is slightly open, lip arched, his eyes are wide but his brows are pulled together at your words and you could guess that he has never been so confused.

"What?" You almost giggle.

"By God, you care entirely too much."

You have to take a deep breath before he continues, "Your skin? What is it wrong with your skin? I quite like your skin. Would you rather I find you a furry pelt you can wear?"

It's moments like these that remind you of how silly this man is. You shake your head, but he continues, slowly, bewildered.

"Your... thighs touch? I see not how that could be an issue. Do not my thighs touch as well? How is it you are able to invent these things to be bothered by?"

Although you had been frustrated a moment before, you know he has a point. He had lived through many more centuries, it very well might have seemed strange to worry over such things.

Sukuna stands, coming closer without pause, and tugs on the draping of your garb. "What formula are you using to decide what looks good and what does not?" His hands find your body and squeeze over you in an almost ticklish way.

It was not sexual, it was not uncomfortable either. He was simply feeling you. He loved your being, whatever shell you presented in. Eventually, his palm came up and engulfed the top of your head, his fingers dangled by your eyes. "Hmmm, I cannot understand. Anything would be flattering if it was put on you."

A part of you wanted to murmur, "That's just what you're saying." But you knew Sukuna, and you knew he meant it. The concept that you might hold his same mindset was an impossibility at that moment in the hall of mirrors.

But you had many other moments to share with your King and believe me when I say, that man could be convincing.

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tls12lessthan3 · 2 months ago

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never before has this type of self-insert fantasy ever sold me on a main character's powers like omniscient reader's viewpoint does. normally when the main character recieves some kind of insanely powerful skill due to their previously useless/cringe/lame/etc hobby or career i have a reaction of like. ok sure. yoo joonghyuk was a pro gamer so now in the star stream he has a pro gamer attribute that lets him fight like he's playing a video game. ok sure! not exactly difficult to grasp.

but kim dokja's skills are so clearly not just based in his favourite hobby but like. reflective of his entrenched ideas about himself and the world. there's a moment in chapter 2 where yoo sangah sees that kim dokja is feeling down about not getting his contract renewed (unlike her, who as a Heroine would obviously be better than him and be recognized for her talents), so she offers to send him a link to her language learning app in an attempt to connect with him and cheer him up. and this immediately sends kim dokja into intense dissasociation because he interprets it as her trying to make him like her - a protagonist, a hard worker, someone of value, all of which can be summed up in this case as an active 'Character' and all of which kim dokja has strictly barred himself from. he sees it as yoo sangah trying to pull him from his place in the story as just a reader who lets things happen to him into a proper character role and this is something his mind rejects almost violently. and its like oh! hello fourth wall! i see you! cause thats exactly what the fourth wall does! it protects him from becoming a 'Character' and therefore having to get hurt as characters (people who try hard, interact with the world, and thereby impact it) do by rejecting any notion of him being an actual part of the story, rather than the useless bystander he's always characterised himself as. which is what he's doing here. this dissasociation and that dissasociation are so clearly linked.

and its just one example i can see of how kim dokjas neuroses and issues are so clearly displayed to the reader (disguised as the typical eye-rolling self-deprecation we expect from these sort of self-inserts, almost on par with isekai fl's who proclaim they will never attract the attention of the ml). and then they go on to so clearly build his skills in a way that makes you go oh yeah i guess i get it on a first read and make you want to chew glass on a second. the way his abilities aren't just deus ex machinas he gets as a reader and instead so clearly foreshadowed in and influenced by his psyche........ough. did you guys know this book is good actually.

#orv #victor's liveblog two: electric boogaloo

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denimbex1986 · 1 year ago

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'...“It’s fun playing bad, but actually he’s not,” the actor says, smiling as he reflects on his character, Crowley. “He’s a villain with a heart. The amount of really evil things he does are vanishingly small.”

...As it always has, “Good Omens” dissects the view of good and evil as absolutes, showing viewers that they are not as separate as we were led to believe growing up. Aziraphale and Crowley’s long-standing union is proof of this. The show also urges people to look at what defines our own humanity. For Tennant — who opted to wear a T-shirt emblazoned with the words “Leave trans kids alone you absolute freaks” during a photocall for Season 2 — these themes are more important now than ever before.

“In this society that we’re currently living in, where polarization seems ever more present, fierce and difficult to navigate. Negotiation feels like a dirty word at times,” he says, earnestly. “This is a show about negotiation. Two extremes finding common ground and making their world a better place through it. Making life easier, kinder and better. If that’s the sort of super objective of the show, then I can’t think of anything more timely, relevant or apt for the rather fractious times we’re living in.”

“Good Omens” is back by popular demand for another season. How does it feel?

It’s lovely. Whenever you send something out into the world, you never quite know how it will land. Especially with this, because it was this beloved book that existed, and that creates an extra tension that you might break some dreams. But it really exploded. I guess we were helped by the fact that we had Neil Gaiman with us, so you couldn’t really quibble too much with the decisions that were being made. The reception was, and continues to be, overwhelming.

Now that you’re no longer bound by the original material that people did, perhaps, feel a sense of ownership over, does the new content for Season 2 come with a sense of freedom for you? This is uncharted territory, of sorts.

That’s an interesting point. I didn’t know the book when I got the script. It was only after that I discovered the worlds of passion that this book had incited. Because I came to it that way, perhaps it was easier. I found liberation from that, to an extent. For me, it was always a character that existed in a script. At first, I didn’t have that extra baggage of expectation, but I acquired it in the run-up to Season 1 being released… the sense that suddenly we were carrying a ming vase across a minefield.

In Season 2, we still have Neil and we also have some of the ideas that he and Terry had discussed. During the filming of the first one, Neil would drop little hints about the notions they had for a prospective sequel, the title of which would have been “668: The Neighbour of the Beast,” which is a pretty solid gag to base a book around. Indeed there were elements like Gabriel and the Angels, who don’t feature in the book, that were going to feature in a sequel. They were brought forward into Season 1. So, even in the new episodes, we’re not entirely leaving behind the Terry Pratchett-ness of it all.

It’s great to see yourself and Michael Sheen reunited on screen as these characters. Fans will have also watched you pair up for Season 3 of “Staged.” You’re quite the dynamic duo. What do you think is the magic ingredient that makes the two of you such a good match?

It’s a slightly alchemical thing. We knew each other in passing before, but not well. We were in a film together [“Bright Young Things,” 1993] but we’d never shared a scene. It was a bit of a roll of the dice when we turned up at the read-through for “Good Omens.” I think a lot comes from the writing, as we were both given some pretty juicy material to work with. Those characters are beloved for a reason because there’s something magical about them and the way they complete each other. Also, I think we’re quite similar actors in the way we like to work and how we bounce off each other.

Does the shorthand and trust the two of you have built up now enable you to take more risks on-screen?

Yes, probably. I suppose the more you know someone, the more you trust someone. You don’t have to worry about how an idea might be received and you can help each other out with a more honest opinion than might be the case if you were, you know, dancing around each other’s nervous egos. Enjoying being in someone’s orbit and company is a positive experience. It makes going to work feel pleasant, productive, and creative. The more creative you can be, the better the work is. I don’t think it’s necessarily a given that an off-screen relationship will feed into an on-screen one in a positive or negative way. You can play some very intimate moments with someone you barely know. Acting is a peculiar little contract, in that respect. But it’s disproportionately pleasurable going to work when it’s with a mate.

Fans have long discussed the nature of Crowley and Aziraphale’s relationship. In Season 2, we see several of the characters debate whether the two are an item, prompting them to look at their union and decipher what it is. How would you describe their relationship?

They are utterly co-dependent. There’s no one else having the experience that they are having and they’ve only got each other to empathize with. It’s a very specific set of circumstances they’ve been dealt. In this season, we see them way back at the creation of everything. They’ve known each other a long time and they’ve had to rely on each other more and more. They can’t really exist one without the other and are bound together through eternity. Crowley and Aziraphale definitely come at the relationship with different perspectives, in terms of what they’re willing to admit to the relationship being. I don’t think we can entirely interpret it in human terms, I think that’s fair to say.

Yet fans are trying to do just that. Do you view it as beyond romantic or any other labels, in the sense that it’s an eternal force?

It’s lovely [that fans discuss it] but you think, be careful what you wish for. If you’re willing for a relationship to go in a certain way or for characters to end up in some sort of utopian future, then the story is over. Remember what happened to “Moonlighting,” that’s all I’m saying! [Laughs]

Your father-in-law, Peter Davison, and your son, Ty Tennant, play biblical father-and-son duo Job and Ennon in Episode 2. In a Tumblr Q&A, Neil Gaiman said that he didn’t know who Ty’s family was when he cast him. When did you become aware that Ty had auditioned?

I don’t know how that happened. I do a bunch of self-tapes with Ty, but I don’t think I did this one with him because I was out of town filming “Good Omens.” He certainly wasn’t cast before we started shooting. There were two moments during filming where Neil bowled up to me and said, “Guess, who we’ve cast?” Ty definitely auditioned and, as I understand it, they would tell me, he was the best. I certainly imagine he could only possibly have been the best person for the job. He is really good in it, so I don’t doubt that’s true. And then my father-in-law showed up, as well, which was another delicious treat. In the same episode and the same family! It was pretty weird. I have worked with both of them on other projects, but never altogether.

There’s a “Doctor Who” cameo, of sorts, in Episode 5, when Aziraphale uses a rare annual about the series as a bartering tool. In reality, you’ll be reprising your Time Lord role on screen later this year in three special episodes to mark the 60th anniversary. Did you always feel you’d return to “Doctor Who” at some point?

There’s a precedent for people who have been in the series to return for a multi-doctor show, which is lovely. I did it myself for the 50th anniversary in 2013, and I had a wonderful time with Matt [Smith]. Then, to have John Hurt with us, as well, was a little treat. But I certainly would never have imagined that I’d be back in “Doctor Who” full-time, as it were, and sort of back doing the same job I did all those years ago. It was like being given this delightful, surprise present. Russell T Davies was back as showrunner, Catherine Tate [former on-screen companion] was back, and it was sort of like the last decade and a half hadn’t happened.

Going forward, Ncuti Gatwa will be taking over as the new Doctor. Have you given him any advice while passing the baton?

Oh God, what a force of nature. I’ve caught a little bit of him at work and it’s pretty exciting. I mean, what advice would you give someone? You can see Ncuti has so much talent and energy. He’s so inspired and charismatic. The thing about something like this is: it’s the peripherals, it’s not the job. It’s the other stuff that comes with it, that I didn’t see coming. It’s a show that has so much focus and enthusiasm on it. It’s not like Ncuti hasn’t been in a massive Netflix series [“Sex Education,”] but “Doctor Who” is on a slightly different level. It’s cross-generational, international, and has so much history, that it feels like it belongs to everyone.

To be at the center of the show is wonderful and humbling, but also a bit overwhelming and terrifying. It doesn’t come without some difficulties, such as the immediate loss of anonymity. It takes a bit of getting used to if that’s not been your life up to that point. I was very lucky that when I joined, Billie Piper [who portrayed on-screen companion, Rose] was still there. She’d lived in a glare of publicity since she was 14, so she was a great guide for how to live life under that kind of scrutiny. I owe a degree of sanity to Billie.

Your characters are revered by a few different fandoms. Sci-fi fandoms are especially passionate and loyal. What is it like being on the end of that? I imagine it’s a lot to hold.

Yes, certainly. Having been a fan of “Doctor Who” since I was a tiny kid, you’re aware of how much it means because you’re aware of how much it meant to you. My now father-in-law [who portrayed Doctor Who in the 80s] is someone I used to draw in comic strips when I was a kid. That’s quite peculiar! It’s a difficult balance because on one end, you have to protect your own space, and there aren’t really any lessons in that. That does take a bit of trial and error, to an extent, and it’s something that you’re sometimes having to do quite publicly. But, it is an honor and a privilege, without a doubt. As you’ve said, it means so much to people and you want to be worthy of that. You have to acknowledge that and be careful with it. Some days that’s tough, if you’re not in the mood.

I know you’re returning to the stage later this year to portray Macbeth. You’ve previously voiced the role for BBC Sounds, but how are you feeling about taking on the character in the theater?

I’m really excited about it. It’s been a while since I’ve done Shakespeare. It’s very thrilling but equally — and this analogy probably doesn’t stretch — it’s like when someone prepares for an Olympic event. It does feel like a bit of a mountain and, yeah, you’re daring to set yourself up against some fairly worthy competition from down the years. That’s both the challenge and the horror of doing these types of things. We’ve got a great director, Max Webster, who recently did “Life of Pi.” He’s full of big ideas. It’s going to be exciting, thrilling, and a little bit scary. I’m just going to take a deep breath.

Before we part ways, let’s discuss the future of “Good Omens.” Gaiman has said that he already has ideas for Season 3, should it happen. If you were to do another season, is there anyone in particular you’d love to work with next time around or anything specific you’d like to see happen for Crowley?

Oh, Neil Gaiman knows exactly where he wants to take it. If you’re working with people like Gaiman, I wouldn’t try to tamper with that creative void. Were he to ask my opinion, that would be a different thing, but I can’t imagine he would. He’s known these characters longer than me and what’s interesting is what he does with them. That’s the bit that I’m desperate to know. I do know where Crowley might end up next, but it would be very wrong if I told you.

[At this point, Tennant picks up a pencil and starts writing on a hotel pad of paper.]

I thought you were going to write it down for me then. Perhaps like a clandestine meeting on a bench in St James’ Park, but instead you’d write the information down and slide it across the table…

I should have done! I was drawing a line, which obviously, psychologically, I was thinking, “Say no more. You’re too tempted to reveal a secret!” It was my subconscious going “Shut the fuck up!”

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lovebugism · 3 months ago

Note

Hii i saw you wanted some smutty requests so here we go:

being frisky at the fun fair with maybe grumpy!eddie? 🤭 or whoever you think would be better.

absolutely adore your writing btw 💕

hi! this is me making sure i still know how to write lol! pls ignore any mistakes bc this isn't proofread hehe but i hope you like it anon! — eddie munson may hate the state fair, but he loves the hell outta you (established relationship, allusions to smut 18+ | 1.1k)

Eddie’s too proud for the mirror maze.

Correction: Eddie’s too proud to admit that he has no idea how to get out of the mirror maze.

You hide your giggling behind your palm when he hits another glass pane with a resounding thud. The cartoonish sound echoes through the otherwise empty attraction, along with the boy’s whispered “Fuck!” he tries hard to hide under his breath.

His fingertips disappear under his curly bangs as he rubs at his forehead, trying and failing to find the spot that aches. He spins on the heel of his worn sneaker, and you find his pretty features bathed in rainbow neon lights and hardened into a boyish pout.

He glares when he catches you smiling in the face of his plight, doe eyes narrowing in a look of offense — as though you were the one making him run into every mirror.

“It’s not funny,” Eddie grumbles, now kneading his temple. “I wanna go home.”

Your smile only widens. “We still have to get outta here first, Eds,” you tell him, soft and sympathetic, as you pat gently at his chest.

The notion makes his pout deepen. His huff bounces off the glass-metal cage you’re both stuck in as he spins back around again — lest the pretty way you’re looking at him now makes him melt. “I can’t believe you talked me into this,” he mumbles with a shake of his wild head.

You watch him take a tentative step forward and grin at the back of him. “It’s your fault for being so in love with me,” you joke.

You expect him to turn around and glare again — or to laugh like it’s all a big joke and say, “In your dreams, babe.” But instead, he only sighs. And beneath the soft clanging of his hesitant footsteps against the silver floor, you hear him murmur under his breath, “Yeah, I know…”

His words trail off as he turns a sharp corner. A warning bubbles in your throat, then fades on the edge of your tongue a second later. Eddie rams into his reflection before he can blink. “Shit!” he curses, half-drowned out beneath your giggling and the echoing thud of his previous impact.

“Why don’t you put your arms out in front of you like a normal person?” you wonder through a bout of unbridled laughter.

Eddie grumbles something unintelligible under his breath. He rubs at his forehead with his ringed hand balled in a tight fist — not because he hit his head like an idiot (this time, anyway), but because the neon lights coupled with frustration are making his mind all swimmy. If there was anyone not built for a state fair, it was undoubtedly and unequivocally him.

Knowing this, you exhale a whimsical sigh and wrap arms both your arms around him. “Aw, Eds…” you say, still laughing slightly under your breath as you hug him by the waist.

You rest your head on his shoulder and rub your warm cheek along the soft leather of his jacket. You peer up at him through your lashes and find his face all pinched together — but softened, still, by the emerald-ocean lights overhead.

“Want me to kiss it better?” you offer with a knowing lilt in your gentle voice.

Wordlessly, and never losing his pout, Eddie nods in the affirmative.

You rise to the tips of your toes and brush a kiss against his temple. The boy exhales a deep sigh through his nose before his tense shoulders relax slowly against you. ‘Cause underneath all the metalhead exterior, of course, is just a really big teddy bear.

“Want another?” you ask when you see the plea swimming in his wide brown eyes.

Eddie, however, shrugs unenthusiastically in response. “If it’ll make you feel better, I guess,” he mumbles, though his lips ache with the urge to kiss yours.

You seemingly know this as you wrap both arms around his neck like a snake trying to suffocate its prey before kissing the breath from his lungs.

Eddie barely has time to take a breath before you’re licking into his mouth — wet tongue running warm along his chapped lips, body so close he can feel your languid heartbeat pounding against his chest.

His head swims. His stomach swirls. His mouth waters for more. His head pulls back from you all the same.

“Whoa,” he mumbles, slightly slurred, as his lips click audibly from yours. His chcolate eyes are noticeably lidded, and his mouth is distinctly rosier. The sight of your work makes you grin, similarly kiss-struck. “What are you doing?” he wonders aloud, trying to laugh.

“Kissin’ you,” you answer like it’s obvious.

His heavy eyes flit past you to peer further down the maze. They dart wildly back and forth like he’s looking for extra bodies through the glass panes. Your smile widens. “Fair’s closing, babe. There’s no one else in here…”

You trail off and press your mouth to his neck. Not exactly kissing him there, just smoothing your lips up and down the thrumming tendon of his milky white skin. You hear him sigh like he’s annoyed by it all, but his ringed hands find purchase on your hips in surrender.

“The shit you get me into…” Eddie huffs at the ceiling, eyes fluttering shut when your teeth scratch at his pulse.

“You love it,” you assure with a smile into his skin.

He squeezes at your hips, as though in warning. “That’s very presumptuous of you.”

“Is it?” you hum sarcastically while, at the same time, nudging at his crotch with your thigh — where you can feel his cock beginning to harden through the thick fabric of his jeans. “‘Cause it kinda feels like you love it.”

“I hate you,” you hear him announce in a low grumble, just before his hand reaches for your neck. You can feel the warm silver of his rings along the back of it when he grabs you there, pulling you away from his skin to press his mouth mercilessly to yours.

Your back hits the mirror with a dull thud, and you try not to think about how Eddie had run into it minutes prior — lest you break into another giggle fit in the heat of the honeyed moment. You just tangle your fingers in the boy’s silky, wild curls and let him make a mess of you.

It’s all teeth and tongue. So messy, you can feel a mixture of your saliva on your chin. He kisses you with a brutal adoration, like he’s biting into the sweetest of apples.

Eddie grabs your leg with the hand not cradling the back of your neck. You can feel his rings leaving indents on the warm skin of your thigh from how ardently he’s holding you as he urges your knee up to his hips. You wrap your calf around the back of him obediently, skirt creeping scandalously up your lap.

A whimper sounds in your throat when Eddie grinds his hips forward, trying hopelessly to soothe the aching of his stiffening cock. The coarse denim presses mercilessly to the wet spot forming in your panties. The unforgiving metal of his zipper nudges at your clit. The world spins around you.

When white lights reflect suddenly in rays along the many mirrors around you, you figure it must be the stars in your eyes. Until someone bangs along the far wall at the edge of the attraction, anyway — a dense and distant thud, thud, thud — as though they were beating the glass with their fist.

Your heart lurches into your throat. You and Eddie part from each other instinctively, squinting at the bright light as you search for the person behind it. Through many layers of distorted glass, you find a figure all in khaki — wearing a cowboy hat and a gold badge on his chest.

Chief fucking Hopper.

“You got one minute to get the hell outta here!” Jim demands in a distant, but no less stern voice.

Eddie gapes, stunned silent, as the throbbing of pleasure between his legs starts to ebb. He’s even more horrified when you start to laugh aloud to yourself, like all of this is funny to you.

“We’re gonna need a lot longer than that, Hop,” you shout back, still giggling as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “Eddie’s navigational skills are shit—”

Chest swirling with equal parts embarrassment, frustration, and longing (an albeit dangerous concoction), Eddie grumbles under his breath and reaches for your hand. “Let’s just fucking go,” he mumbles like a rumbling storm cloud as he leads you down the glass maze with a soft but unyielding touch.

“Wait— Watch out,” you caution when you catch him stomping in the wrong direction.

Your words are punctuated by a metallic thud and Eddie’s pained shout. “Fuck!”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #stranger things x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble

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satuguro · 2 years ago

Text

⠀⠀ ⠀ཾ ༚ 20/20 VISION

lalala! ethan landry x okokok! reader

#SYNOPSIS— based off of see you again by tyler the creater & kali uchis; you have no gag reflex, ethan tells a sex joke, and ethan takes a leap of faith.

#CONTAINS— best friends to lovers, mutual pining, jealousy, emetophobia, fluff

#AUTHORSNOTE— i've been wanting to write fluff lately so.. here you go xx

your unofficial designated spot in the carpenter sisters' apartment was their armchair in their living room.

you had a list of reasons why; one, it meant more space. you could stretch your legs, not worry about feeling someone's feet near your legs, and you could have your own blanket. all somewhat selfish reasons, but you loved your space. two, it had the perfect angle towards the t.v. that gave you the best spot in the living room to watch it without worrying about discomfort.

which was why you would've been mildly perturbed that someone was standing between you and the t.v. the only difference was that it wasn't just someone; it was someone who rambled too often, who had no sense of personal space while also being hyper aware of it, and who was a flurry of random facts (which wouldn't help him at all, unless someone held a gun to his head and told him to name and point at every country’s capital in the world).

"i've done it," ethan announced to you, his signature toothy smile seemingly more victorious as he looked down at where you were snuggled up on the couch. his well manicured nails (he asked you to do them once, and who were you to deny your best friend?) held his laptop, the screen facing his chest.

"aren't you supposed to be studying?" you asked him with a small tilt of your head, glancing at where the rest of the group was. finals week was beating everyone up, and you could briefly see mindy and chad chugging a redbull at the same time while tara timed them, before you turned back to your best friend.

"i gave up."

"you need to study."

"you gave up, too!" ethan looked down at the huge blanket that you hogged for yourself, not even thinking twice before he was climbing in next to you.

"ow— ethan!" you groaned, feeling him step on your leg.

"'scuse me!" ethan forced himself under the blanket you were snuggled under, making you share your beloved armchair with him before he sighed contentedly. "this is comfortable! maybe i should share this seat with you more often!" he said with a bright grin, making you sigh reluctantly. "i mean if you don't want to then it's fine too!" ethan added hurriedly with wide eyes.

"i was just saying that i wouldn't mind sharing with you because usually you sit alone— which i know you prefer, you've told me so many times and i get it! i really do! but i wouldn't mind sitting with you to keep you company because i really like being with you— around you. your presence. yeah, that." ethan rambled, finishing his string of words with a sheepish smile, cheeks flaring a bit red. "i'm sorry for rambling." he added quietly.

your usually tired eyes softened at that. he had always been insecure of how much he talked, you knew that better than anyone. "i've told you before, e, i don't mind. i like listening to you," you hummed, a downturned smile on your lips. "i like your presence too. and i guess i don't mind sharing my seat with you."

ethan's cheeks flared red at your casual words. you had a way of speaking so calmly, as though all your words were chosen well. in a way, he was a bit jealous.

"you had something to tell me, yeah?" you asked him softly, bringing him back on track.

"oh, right!" ethan showed you his laptop, setting it up on your legs. it was a notion list, color coordinated and everything, with an entire list of shows and movies you remember only briefly mentioning to him. "i made this list—"

"just now? instead of studying?"

"yes! so basically, it has a section where we can rate it after we watch it, and it's all organized by what we want to watch the most and what we need to finish!" ethan scrolled down the list, practically buzzing with excitement (and the cold brew he drank earlier).

"see? i know that i have a whole essay to do but i can do it later—" ethan said, waving it off with his hand. "because i know you said you would do it but i got impatient and did it instead! and look—" he showed you the wide variety of colors for every row. "they're color coordinated! and here's how i think the rating system should go—"

you had watched ethan talk the entire time he rambled, your usually tired and indifferent eyes softening when you listened to him speak. he talked fast— too fast for some people, but you liked that about him—but the way he rambled showed how passionate he was about different topics, because ethan only rambled when he cared.

it showed how much he appreciated what he was talking about. and ever time his cadence picked up and his words became jumbled and he began interrupting himself, you could see how ethan's brown eyes would shine with excitement. you could see how he began incorporating his hands to his words, how his lips tilted up when he talked.

you were so engrossed in ethan's explanation of the movie and t.v. show list that you failed to notice your friends staring at you from the dining table.

"they are disgustingly cute," tara said with a sigh.

"and disgustingly oblivious," mindy grumbled, clicking her pen over and over. "with how smart the both of them are, i'm surprised they haven't picked up on the clues." she turned to chad, who was sulking after losing the redbull chugging competition against her. "have you asked ethan about it yet? you're our in on this, chad!"

chad groaned as mindy nudged him with her shoulder. "i did. he didn't even respond. it's crazy how he can avoid conversations, you know."

you didn't like parties. not as much as your friends did— you were usually the designated driver or the friend that was always sober enough to take care of their friends, which you didn't mind. it was the socializing part that you minded.

you socialized okay, but you often just ended up listening to other people rather than talking. listening was more your style, but you were only a little awkward when it came to talking to complete (and possibly intoxicated) strangers at parties. you stuck with your group of friends and very rarely strayed away.

but ethan was the designated sober friend this time around, so maybe that would change.

three loud knocks to your dorm room made you go and open it, coming eye to eye with ethan. "you're walking me there?" you asked with a knowing smile, making the boy nod eagerly.

"yup! chad's walking with tara and mindy's going with anika, so that leaves you and me." ethan grinned at you teasingly. "why, you're getting tired of me already?"

"no," you hummed, closing your dorm room behind you as the both of you began to walk down the hall. "you're really not drinking tonight, huh?"

"nope!" ethan replied, popping the 'p'. "after i threw up all over sam that one time we drank at the apartment, and then i threw up on you right after, i told myself that i'd hold back on it."

you wrinkled your nose at the memory. "how responsible of you."

"i know, right?" ethan said with a proud smile. "but because i threw up on you that time, i give you full permission to throw up on me this time."

"i'm not gonna be that drunk."

that was a lie.

to say that your friends were shocked to see you become a more extraverted person after drinking would be an understatement. they were used to you observing the group and contributing to conversations with sarcastic comments, dry humor, and dark jokes that are often made much too soon. so to see you take a shot with tara and squeal happily with her (true friend solidarity; she was as drunk as you were) was completely out of the ordinary.

"i'm gonna go find chad!" tara yelled over the music, making you nod happily and watch her leave. adrenaline and excitement began to thrum through your body stronger, and your first thought was to share it with your favorite person. you began to walk around, searching for ethan, before you bumped into a chest.

"oh, shit! i'm so sorry," the guy laughed, making you send him an apologetic smile.

"it's okay!" you said, taking in his black hair and his brown eyes (that only reminded you of ethan). "i'm y/n!"

the guy smiled at you, offering his hand out. "jaden!" he seemed to be as intoxicated as you were, his steps wobbling slightly as you shook his hand. "do you, uh, wanna dance?"

"hey, where's y/n?" ethan asked tara as she passed him, making her look back towards the drinks table.

"she should just be around where the drinks are.." tara's voice trailed off when her eyes landed on you not too far away. your arms were around a guy's neck— was that jaden from her philosophy lecture? —as you swayed with him to the music. you seemed to be having a good time, the alcohol making you lighthearted as you sang with whatever song was playing through the speakers. "there she is!"

when ethan saw you, his heart fell. you looked so beautiful under the multicolored lights, your hair perfectly styled and your clothes fitting you perfectly as you danced with someone who wasn't him. your smile— your genuine one, ethan noted with his chest aching, the one that made your eyes crinkle and your smile lopsided —was pointed towards someone who wasn't him.

jealousy brewed in his chest along with the heartache, ethan's jaw clenching as he stared at you and the random guy. but he didn't step in. he didn't pull you away and declare his feelings for you, because at the end of the night, you were happy. content as you danced with someone who wasn't ethan at all.

chad came up next to tara, his arm over her shoulders as he steadied her. "hey man, where's y/n?" he asked, still fairly sober than everyone as he had only taken one shot.

"she's doing fine," ethan said, his voice monotone as he continued staring at you. it was unfair how beautiful you looked while you unknowingly broke his heart with every laugh and every flirtatious smile you sent towards your dance partner.

"what?" chad looked in the direction ethan was staring, his face falling when he saw you and jaden. easily connecting the dots, he looked at ethan empathetically. "fuck. dude, i'm sorry."

"it's okay, really," ethan said with a tight lipped smile. but he couldn't keep his eyes off of you and him, the fact that you looked so happy pulling at his chest because he wanted you to be happy with him. he wanted you to look at him the way you looked at that random stranger.

and finally, as you did a twirl into jaden’s arms, you made eye contact with ethan. oblivious to the way his jaw clenched and his eyes lost the spark they usually had, you gently pulled yourself out of jaden's arms. your steps were wobbly, and you nearly crashed into ethan's chest when you finally walked up to him. ethan's arms went to steady you easily.

"ethan, i feel like throwing up," you murmured, and ethan nodded in understanding, worry taking over his jealousy.

"okay, let's get you to the bathroom, okay?" ethan said softly, pulling you close to him as he guided you to the bathroom. he knocked on the door, thankful no one responded, before he opened it for you. he locked the door behind the both of you as you made a beeline for the toilet, grabbing the side of it as you readied yourself to throw up.

but nothing came out.

“go on!” ethan encouraged you, motioning to the toilet. but instead, you looked up at him warily.

“do i have to?”

“yes?” ethan gaped at you, motioning to the toilet again. “just go ahead! nothing to fear!”

“i don’t want to.”

“c’mon, y/n, why not?” ethan whined, making you groan as you stopped yourself from throwing up yet again.

“i have emetophobia, asshole,” you muttered, gently pushing his arm. “fear of throwing up? and,” you messily pushed some of your hair away from your face. “i have no gag reflex.”

“what the hell?” ethan crinkled his nose, blushing furiously as he looked at you in shock. you were honest, sure but never this honest. “i could’ve gone my whole life without knowing that.”

“are you sure?”

“what?” ethan said quickly, eyes wider than ever as he stared at you as you snorted in amusement. “you’re kidding.”

“maybe.”

“maybe?” he swallowed thickly, shutting his eyes and pinching his nose bridge. “oh god, you definitely have to throw up now.”

“watch this.” you took two of your fingers and stuffed them all the way to the back of your throat, smiling triumphantly as you showed ethan your lack of a gag reflex.

ethan could only watch in horror and exasperation. “y/n, i didn’t need proof. i already believed you.” he took some squares of toilet paper before offering it to you.

“i told you so,” you hummed, pulling your saliva covered finger out of your mouth and wiping them on the toilet paper. there was a beat of silence before ethan coughed, his cheeks and ears still burning red.

“can i make a joke?”

“of course you can.”

“it’s a, uh,” ethan cleared his throat, avoiding your intent gaze, “sex joke.”

“even better.” you situated yourself next to the toilet, still very much feeling like you were gonna hurl at any given moment.

ethan sat next to you, clearing his throat again. “i know one way we can test your gag reflex,” he stated, almost ashamed at his own joke.

you chuckled at that, the horrible joke making a you sway a bit with laughter before the sudden motion sickness got to you. without another word, you threw up into the toilet. all thanks to ethan’s horrible sex joke.

he immediately reached over to move some of your hair. you continued retching into the toilet, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. "i hate drinking," you grumbled as you laid your forehead on your arm, eyes watery from throwing up. immediately as you got the words out, you threw up again.

"i know, i know.. but i know you're gonna end up drinking again," ethan teased softly, making your back heave as you managed a laugh, only for it to be interrupted by you throwing up again. "it's okay, let it all out." he couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped his lips. “i can’t believe a sex joke made you throw up.”

and you almost laughed again if you didn’t throw up even more.

the sound of the party died into the background as ethan sat next to you on the ground. your head was laying on your arm, which was on the toilet seat. you were still intoxicated, and the world was still spinning, but you could see the obvious turmoil on ethan's face. you poked his arm. "what's wrong?"

"what?" ethan said, snapping out of his daze to send you a tight lipped smile. "nothing's wrong."

"liar."

"i'm not!"

"i know you better than that, e," you murmured, half lidded eyes staring at him. you had thrown up most of your alcohol, and while you were still inebriated, you felt a lot more clear headed than earlier. “what's wrong?"

ethan looked at you, eyes flashing with hurt as he pictured you again dancing with someone else. "do you really want to know?" he asked you, and you nodded. even while drunk, you opted to listen.

"you looked beautiful when you were dancing," ethan began, managing a soft smile, "i don't think i've ever seen you like that. it's not a bad thing or a good thing, but it's a new thing, y'know?" he sighed. "you dance really well, i'm surprised you haven't told me," a genuine smile appeared on his face when he heard you laugh quietly. "and your laugh.. i swear i would listen to it over whatever horrible music is playing right now."

ethan looked at you, taking in your obviously roughed up and intoxicated form. but somehow, even with slightly messy hair and most of your make-up rubbed off and with your breath smelling only a little bit like puke, you still looked beautiful. it was enough to make someone who talked as much as him to go quiet in awe.

"but when you laughed, and when you smiled,” ethan said slowly, taking in heavy breaths with every word. fear thrummed through his body, mingling with the nervousness as he twiddled with his fingers anxiously. to continue on would be to admit everything. to admit how he felt, the thoughts he had been having about you, everything. and to admit it to you would be to risk losing a friendship and one of the most important people in his life.

“.. you weren’t smiling or laughing at me. and i hated that.”

confusion spread over your face before realization hit your eyes. “oh.” and oh, it suddenly all made sense. why ethan was so bothered, why you were so willing to listen to one person speak for forever as long as it was them, why even as you danced with another, something was off because he wasn’t ethan. he wasn’t your best friend.

“you don’t have to say anything,” ethan mumbled, completely misinterpreting your realization for rejection. his eyes watered slightly as he avoided your gaze. “it’s been going on for a while now, and i get it if you don’t feel the same! i really do, it’s just,” he sighed shakily, “i don’t want to lose you—”

“ethan—”

“i was completely willing to just shut up about how i felt as long as that meant i could still have you in my life, y/n,” ethan said, looking into your eyes earnestly. “and i thought i could keep it under wraps but i have to tell you at least once because—”

“i love you.”

“what?” ethan blinked, making you smile, your head still resting on your arm.

“i love you, ethan.”

a toothy smile spread over his face at that, his shoulders relaxing as he searched your face for any doubt. “are you— are you sure?”

“i wouldn’t say it if i wasn’t,” you murmured softly as you raised your head, making ethan laugh in relief.

“holy shit— i love you too.” ethan said, leaning forward, only for you to stop him.

“e, i might throw up on you if you kiss me.”

“do you think i care?”

#scream 6 imagines #scream 6 smut #ethan landry smut #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry imagines #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry #ethan landry x you #ethan landry fluff #ethan landry x y/n #scream fanfic #scream 6 fanfic #ethan landry fanfiction #scream 6 imagine #scream vi imagine #scream vi smut #scream vi imagines

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scoutofmymind · 16 days ago

Note

Reader and Luigi basically being the old married couple of the group. A newcomer finds out that they aren’t actually together and it feels like breaking news because it’s basically assumed by most that they’re together. Maybe it isn’t until one of them starts getting actively pursued by someone else when it starts clicking why it makes them uncomfortable at the idea. Trying to leave this open ended for you.

The Jester’s Fucking the King — {Luigi x Reader }

Content: I’m gonna call this one NSFW— MDNI, friends to lovers, confusing feelings, Luigi has a physical touch fixation, you’re his fidget toy, fr tho, emotional manipulation lowkey, just a pinch (if you squint) of dirty talk, kinda love triangle

Wc: 3,458

Notes: yourself and Luigi have been Inseparable for six years, and the introduction of a new friend into the group throws a wrench into everything.

Before we start, I wanna make a quick note about the title, and where the hell it came from (lol). I was inspired by a tumblr post I came across awhile ago, and it stuck with me, I guess, because I randomly thought of it while I was writing this. That’s all. Enjoy xo

I took this and ran with it.

As usual.

"Who's this guy that she's bringing again?" you ask to the car at large, slumped in the backseat between your roommate Scarlett and the window. Your thumb swipes across your phone screen, watching Chloe’s location dot inch its way across the map while Luigi maneuvers through traffic and Ben fidgets with the radio from the passenger seat.

"I dunno, some guy she met in her new sculpture class this semester," Luigi mumbles through a barely-concealed grimace. The thought of adding another person to their carefully balanced social ecosystem clearly weighs on him. You know he's already mentally rehearsing his nice to meet you smile, the kind that takes more energy than he's willing to spend on a random Tuesday night.

"It'd better not be that kid Cole," you mutter, already dreading the possibility.

And because the universe has a cruel sense of humor, it was absolutely, undeniably, that kid Cole.

It hardly mattered what preconceived notions you’d had about him; they dissolved over time as Chloe started bringing him around more often.

The traits you once found annoying gradually morphed into something oddly endearing.

Still, he never quite seemed to understand the dynamic between you and Luigi.

On movie nights, when the six of you crammed into the living room, a messy sprawl of friends and blankets overtaking the couch and floor, you naturally claimed your usual spot; sprawled out across Luigi’s lap. Tonight was no different. You laid there with your back propped against the arm of the couch, scrolling through Instagram while your bottom half stretched longways over him, as if his lap had always been yours to occupy.

Every so often, you’d interrupt the movie to show him a meme or a video a mutual friend had sent. You’d lean in close, shoulders brushing, stifling your laughter together so as not to disturb the others watching John Wick. “That’s fucked up,” he muttered through a barely-contained chuckle, his eyes still on your phone screen.

Madison lives at home, her daily subway commute to campus a small price to pay for access to her parents' sprawling estate. Their backyard is a mediterranean dream, with a pool large enough to host the entire group of misfits, with room to spare.

You're draped over Luigi as he meanders around the pool's edge, both arms curved naturally around your waist beneath the waster. It's the kind of casual intimacy that comes from years of friendship, comfortable and worn-in. "Cole's actually pretty cool," he muses, tilting his head back expectantly.

You comply with the wordless request, holding the La Croix to his lips so he doesn't have to lift his hands from the water.

"Yeah," you agree, your eyes drifting across the pool to where Cole is pretending not to watch this whole exchange. His gaze darts away the moment yours meets his, like a kid caught stealing. "I really did think he was annoying at first, though."

Scarlett’s birthday party, your arms wrapped around Luigi’s waist, your head tucked beneath his arm as you swayed together and sang happy birthday. The whine as you shared a piece of cake, something about how “Luigi won’t even kiss me in public.” When someone said the two of you would have won prom king and queen if you went to the same high school.

Ben’s party followed just weeks later, the night still young and champagne bubbling through your veins. Luigi's hand clamped desperately over your mouth, but your eyes danced with mischief as you nodded enthusiastically at the circle gathered around you. "Yeah, Lu's got a PhD," you managed to say, and before he could stop you, the words tumbled out against his palm: "A pretty huge dick."

Cole watched.

"Did you know Cassie is seeing Dylan?" Cole asked, matching your frantic pace across campus. The morning fog swallowed your mumbled recitations as you mentally rehearsed your presentation for the hundredth time.

"Yeah, Cole, and I'm fucking Luigi.” you scoffed, the sarcasm dripping over every word like sticky molasses as you rolled your eyes. You yanked open the auditorium doors, disappearing behind them without a backward glance, mind already racing ahead to bullet points and transitions.

The very idea that Cole would believe such obvious campus gossip had you shaking your head as you slid into your seat.

But he did believe it.

He stood frozen in the hallway you'd left him in, staring at the closed doors like they might offer some explanation. "Yeah? I know.” he mumbled to your ghost, the words settling confused and heavy in the empty corridor.

The absolute certainty in his voice would have made you laugh, if you'd been there to hear it.

The seasons had shifted, and with them, Cole's hope had quietly ebbed away. After months of watching you, he'd finally accepted what everyone else seemed to know instinctively — even if Luigi wasn't in the picture, you were simply out of reach.

Saturday night found your usual crew at your claimed table in Madison’s backyard, the surface cluttered with emptied drinks and scattered Uno cards. Luigi absently twisted the rings on your fingers — a mindless habit he'd developed somewhere between freshman year and now — while chaos erupted around you.

The familiar symphony of shouted accusations about who was hiding the Draw Four cards mixed with the glow of phones being passed around, TikToks and screenshots sparking new waves of laughter.

Cole watched the way Luigi's fingers danced over yours, and for the first time, the sight didn't sting quite so much.

“I still can't believe Dylan and Cassie are dating," Cole mused through a cloud of smoke, beer bottle dangling precariously from his left hand while a joint was stuffed between the fingers on his right.

The table fell silent, five pairs of eyes fixing on him with varying degrees of confusion and amusement.

"Who told you that?" Scarlett's voice cut through the stunned silence and the resurrection of a dead and gone campus rumor, her phone screen illuminating her face as Dylan's name flashed across it. "Where did you even hear that?"

Cole's eyes pinballed around the table, finally landing on you and Luigi.

Your hand was caught in one of Luigi's absent-minded gestures, knuckles pressed against his lips while he listened — a habit so commonplace to everyone else that they'd stopped noticing years ago. "Uh— wait—" Cole fumbled, taking a desperate pull from the joint as if the answer might be hiding in the smoke. He passed it to his left and asked through a cough, "Are they not?"

“No, you idiot.” Scarlett threw a lighter at him, which he narrowly dodged.

"Well- why did- “Cole's words stumbled over each other as he locked eyes with you across the table. Your brows knitted together, genuinely bewildered by his desperation. "I- you said they were," he insisted, hand gesturing vaguely in your direction like a drowning man reaching for a life raft.

Scarlett's head whipped toward you so fast her earrings clinked, a new lighter in her hand that was suddenly transformed into a weapon of interrogation, the flame pointed in your direction. "You what?"

"I didn't say that!" Your hands flew up defensively, face flushing as you ransacked your memory for any conversation that could've led to this moment.

But your mind offered nothing but static.

"I asked you if you could believe they were- and-“Cole gestured helplessly at Luigi, who was studying your profile with the intense focus of someone who'd stopped processing verbal language three hits ago. His fingers hadn't stopped their absent dance with your rings once you lowered your hands again from your surrender to Scarlett’s mercy, muscle memory outlasting coherent thought.

Cole felt like he'd stumbled into an alternate dimension where everyone spoke a language he'd never learned while those same pairs of eyes dissected him with the kind of judgment only drunk twenty-somethings could muster, making him feel about two inches tall. "And you said 'yeah, and I'm fucking Luigi,'" he defended weakly, the words sounding more ridiculous with each passing second.

"Yeah!" You practically launched across the table, laughter threatening to bubble over as understanding finally dawned. "Because I'm not!" The force of your declaration nearly knocked over someone's beer, but you were too busy watching Cole's face transform as the shoe finally, finally dropped.

Luigi, for his part, just kept twisting your rings, lost somewhere between the fourth dimension and your knuckles.

Cole's jaw went slack, his eyes darting around the table again where this time everyone had suddenly developed an acute interest in hiding their smirks behind their hands — a masterclass in delayed politeness. "What?" He practically shoved the joint away when it circled back, as if too-late sobriety might make this make more sense. "But- but the dick size jokes and- and you tell everyone he won't kiss you in public."

"Oh, you poor thing." Chloe dabbed at her eyes, tears of mirth threatening to ruin her mascara. "She's always done that shit." The words came out half-strangled by suppressed laughter.

Months passed, and Cole transformed into your personal guardian angel. One desperate NEED SUGAR NOW OR DEATH text to the group chat, and he'd materialize with your favorite convenience store candy before anyone else had even read the message.

He collected details about you: the way your nose scrunched at certain perfumes, how you could quote every line from that one movie, the specific shade of purple that made your eyes light up. When he finally told you he liked you — really liked you, more than he'd ever liked anyone — you said you liked him too.

The gravitational shift was subtle at first — like planets realigning. Your usual perch in Luigi's lap gradually migrated to the chair beside Cole, a transition so natural that few noticed, not even you.

It came to a head one Saturday when Luigi texted his absence from movie night, claiming a sudden illness.

The excuse was paper-thin, and you both knew it.

You stood outside his building, jabbing the buzzer with the familiarity of someone who'd done this a thousand times before. "I know you're not sick, Luigi." Your voice crackled through the intercom, bouncing off the walls of his apartment where he lay curled into himself on the sofa, rigid as rigor mortis. "I can see your Oura ring stats." The betrayal of technology made him groan, and the offending ring went sailing across the room, a tiny meteor of exposed lies.

His father knows the developer.

That's the only reason he'd agreed to wear the damn thing — a circular shackle of obligations that now betrayed him from somewhere under his coffee table.

Your finger finds the buzzer again, gentler this time.

"C'mon, bub. I miss you." The sweetness in your voice hits him like a sucker punch, memories of simpler times wrapped in those words. "It can be me and you tonight. We can have a bestie night." The offer dangles like a Time Machine to the past — back when your world was just two planets in perfect orbit, before it expanded into a solar system of friends.

Before Cole ever came around.

Luigi appears in the doorway like a ghost, just as you're about to admit defeat. Your face splits into a grin, but it falters when you really look at him. "God." Your eyes track the sharp edges of his collarbones beneath his shirt. "Have you been eating?" The question trails behind you as you follow him up the familiar path to the second floor.

The apartment feels wrong — like walking into a black and white version of a color photograph you know by heart. Every blind drawn tight against the afternoon sun, as if he's been developing emotional negatives in the dark. "Hey, what's going on?" Your fingers find his forearm, anchoring him before he can drift away again. "This is kinda giving me flashbacks to when you failed your final."

He flinches like you've pressed on a bruise, eyes scanning his self-made darkness as if seeing it for the first time - the familiar choreography of his pain laid bare by your observation. "This definitely feels different from that." His voice comes out hollow, each word carefully chosen to dance around the real issue.

"Better, or worse?"

"I don't know."

He sinks back into his spot on the couch, the oversized blanket making him look smaller than you've ever seen him. His eyes fix on the half-finished Lego set on his coffee table — the Millennium Falcon he'd started weeks ago, now collecting dust mid-construction.

Three hundred pieces still sealed in their bags, waiting.

"Is it your mom?" you try, but Luigi shakes his head. "Is it school?" Another head shake. "Work?" No. "Was it your aunt Lisa again? That bitch—" He cuts you off with another shake. "Is it me?"

The question hangs there, and Luigi pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders, refusing to meet your eyes.

He lets out a long breath, knowing he's trapped himself here — in this moment, in this conversation, in this truth he's been avoiding.

No way out.

"What?" You cross the room in three quick strides, dropping beside him and tugging at the blanket he's using as camouflage. "What do you mean, Lu? C'mon." Your hands search for any part of him that isn't wrapped in fleece, but he's determined to stay hidden. "What did I do?"

Luigi's eyes catch yours for a fraction of a second before darting away. "I really just want to sleep." The words come out muffled as he tries to fold himself smaller, but you're faster, yanking the blanket down before he can disappear completely. "Please."

"Luigi.” Your voice cracks, and you don't try to hide it. You've never had to beg him for anything before, not in all your years of friendship. "I can't leave knowing you're upset with me." It's the rawest truth you have, stripped down to its bare bones on the couch cushions between you. "Come on. Talk to me."

The silence grows so thick you could suffocate in it, until Luigi finally breaks it with a mumble. "How come you only make jokes about fucking me?" His throat works visibly before he adds, "And not anyone else?"

The question hits you like a slap. Your eyes drift across his coffee table, taking inventory — the joint still smoldering in the ashtray, his anti-anxiety meds beside it, a forgotten Gatorade from the night before.

Everything a testament to hours spent alone with his thoughts.

You drag in a deep breath, searching for words you've never had to examine before. "I mean — that's what we do, you know-"

"No," he cuts you off, voice sharpened. "It's what you do."

"Lu." Your spine straightens as confusion settles in. "Why is this suddenly an issue? I've always- I've always made those kind of jokes about us. How everyone thinks we're dating all the time." You stretch yourself forward, trying to catch his eye, but he keeps his gaze fixed somewhere on the floor. "I just lean into it, I guess. I didn't know it bothered you."

He sighs, the sound muffled as he drags his hands down his face. "It doesn't bother me."

"Then," frustration bleeds into your voice as you throw your hands up, lost in whatever conversation he's having three steps ahead of you. "What do you fucking mean?"

"I- I mean-" His tongue clicks against his teeth, each word coming slow like he's translating from another language. "It doesn't bother me in that way."

"In what way?"

"In the way that means you saying you'd fuck me bothers me."

"But you just said it bothers you."

"No,” he says, “I didn't."

Heat rises up your neck as your patience frays.

Your mind twists itself into knots trying to decode whatever puzzle he's laying out between you. "Look at me." The command comes out sharper than intended as you try to yank the blanket away from him. "Fucking look at me!"

The blanket rips from your hands with unexpected force, sending you sprawling onto his hardwood floor. Your oversized sweater is the only thing saving your tailbone from a bruising. "You fucking asshole." The words come out hot as you fumble for your boots to put over the socks that betrayed you in their slipperiness, and just as you manage to wrangle one on, Luigi emerges from his cocoon, fixing you with a look that stops you cold.

"I mean I guess-“ He clears his throat, looking down at you with that familiar steady gaze, but there's something different layered over it now, something raw. "I mean- Why wouldn't you fuck me?"

The question hits like a fist to the cheekbones.

You freeze, one boot half-laced, mouth hanging open as heat floods you to your temples.

Of all the directions this could have gone, you never expected this brand of brutal honesty, delivered while you're sprawled ungracefully on his living room floor and wrestling with your shoelaces.

Your eyes dart between the coffee table and his face, pieces clicking together with nauseating clarity. "What kind of question is that?" The words come out sharp as your fingers hook uselessly around your boot laces.

"Well, what kind of joke is it to go around telling everyone we fuck?" He throws your logic back at you with devastating precision. "What's so funny about that?"

You bury your face in your hands, a groan muffled against your palms. Every memory floods back at once — all those times he tried to stop you from making dick jokes, all those moments people assumed you were dating and you played it up while he went quiet.

Six years of friendship viewed through this new lens makes your stomach lurch, and another heavy sigh tears from your chest.

"Can you at least tell me?" Luigi's voice comes out barely above a whisper, watching you curled up on his floor like a wounded animal.

You finally lift your head, meeting his stare head-on. "Do you want me to say I'd fuck you?"

The silence wraps around you both like a physical thing, but his eyes stay locked on yours even as color floods his cheeks. "Huh?" You arch an eyebrow, challenging. "Want me to say how hard I'd do it?" Your discarded boot connects with his shin. "How I know you whimper."

As if on cue, a small sound escapes him — half whine, half breath. He's still staring at you like you've knocked all the air from his lungs, struck speechless while you press your newfound advantage.

You move closer, settling between his knees as the blanket slips from his shoulders. With gentle pressure, you ease him back against the couch. "Want me to tell you how none of it was ever really a joke?" Your hand rests against his chest, feeling his heartbeat race beneath your palm. "How every time that you felt me push my ass against your dick wasn’t just your imagination?”

Luigi reaches for you then, fingers trembling as they find your skin — reverent and careful. He's always been tactile with you, always finding excuses to be close. He knows the map of your hands better than you do, how your breathing changes when you drift to sleep, all the little things that make you who you are. "I knew it," he whispers as you settle against him, both of you finally exactly where you're meant to be.

You'd spent so long pushing these thoughts away, rationalizing every touch as just his nature — absent patterns traced on your skin during movies, fingers intertwined during conversations, gentle pressure points mapped across your arms during lengthy lectures.

Each gesture filed away as mindless habit.

But this was different. Every point of contact now carried weight, intention.

"I'd fuck you too," Luigi murmurs, drawing you closer, face pressed against your sweater. His hands spread warm and steady across your back, holding you like something precious, something he's afraid might slip away. “And I’d whine as much as you wanted.”

The next week comes floating by once again, Cole hurrying beside you as you rush to your next lecture, desperately trying to untangle your earbuds, hearing Luigi’s voice echo in your mind, laughing at you for your resistance toward Bluetooth devices. “I - I wanted to see if maybe you wanted to-“

“I’m fucking Luigi.” You turn to Cole, your expression deadpan but fixed, serious but not all that concerned before the doors of the auditorium are flung open, and once again, you vanish behind them.

Cole bursts into a fit of giggles at the thought, realizing now that believing such a thing would be mean he was naive — he’s since learned from his mistakes. “Yeah.” He murmurs to himself, “And Cassie and Dylan are still dating.”

#this one was fun!!!#req #luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione fanfic

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siyzuii · 6 months ago

Text

⨳ 　 ʾ apps/sites 4 shifting 　 . 　 ♡

hi! this will be long but i made a list of apps/sites that might be helpful for your shifting journey. reminder that you don't need these to shift but they can be helpful with manifesting, keeping track of stuff, etc.

enjoy! divider cr

NOT SPONSORED BTW LMAO

﹒ 　 ⊹ 　 🝮 　 OO1: NOTION 　 ✩

description:

basically notion is an app for documents and stuff. i have to say this one's relatively known and it's such a huge life saver and i know that probably everyone knows about it already (as they should) but i'm gonna recommend it once again.

useful for:

scripting

dashboards you can add life goals & stuff here you can look up some templates/ideas and see what i mean LOL

cons:

i personally can not think of any major ones because this app is just that good

you do have to make new accounts for the text ai generating feature but i don't know if anyone would use that

additional notes:

i personally love how customizable it is! like you can make each page have a custom icon & header, add widgets, images, and so much more. it is so so so insanely helpful for scripting i'm telling you. or you can just be basic, that works too. there's also a bunch of script templates online including specific ones (like a better cr, fame dr, fantasy dr, fandom-specific drs, bla bla bla) and it's literally the only thing shifttok is good for imo. i'm a big fan of shifterium's templates but there's other people who make them as well and i'm sure you can find some recommendations!

★ 　 ₊ 　 ➲ 　OO2: CANVA

description:

a website + app where you can design stuff from headers down to presentations, posters, covers, etc..

useful for:

album covers for singer/idol drs

book covers for writer drs or something

fake social media posts but there's better apps out there and i'll list them here as well

and much more!

cons:

a lot of things (most of which i think are the good stuff) are paid but you can find similar replicas if you scroll long enough i guess..?? and there's a free trial but i don't know if that helps

additional notes:

definitely my favorite place to go when i need to design something tbh. there's a bunch of templates you can use and the layout is very easy to navigate through! and it's pretty easy to find free alternatives for the paid stuff you do have in there

₍ⁿ⑅..ⁿ₎ 　 ˇ 　 ⩩ 　 OO3: PARROT 　 ❀ 　

description:

parrot is an app where you can record yourself saying literally anything and play it on a continuous loop

useful for:

affirmations (manifesting??)

cons:

i'm pretty sure it's iOS only

additional notes:

personally i haven't used this app (i don't like my voice so i will not be recording myself saying affirmations thank yew) so i can't give it a rating but from the looks of it and based off of recommendations i've seen it's pretty useful. should be a white icon with a pink circle that has a white parrot in it!

≥≤ 　 ﹕ 　 ⤷ 　 OO4: BEHINDTHENAME 　 ◍

description:

a site where you can generate names & even life stories if you choose it (including height, weight, blood type, birthday, nationality and more i think?? at least it gives those for me). you can choose from different cultures and stuff like fantasy & mythology.

useful for:

finding a name & info for your dr self (which is literally you by the way don't forget that!) and potentially other people you'd like to script in

cons:

it really just helps to make a basic profile of a person so the things you can do with it can be a little limited

additional notes:

i prefer using this site for ocs instead but i think it can definitely help with shifting! oddly enough it also shows like a lifespan & cause of death so.. cool i guess!!!!

✦ 　 ﹕ 　 OO5: SOCIAL MAKER/dummy

description:

social maker & social dummy are both apps where you can replicate almost basically anything from the internet from twitter posts to facebook posts, youtube posts, and more!

useful for:

social media stuff especially useful for fame drs, streamer drs, idol/singer drs and so much more

cons:

both apps were deleted so you have to have had installed them before if you want to get them back

social maker is ios only i think?

additional notes:

yeah both apps are deleted but there's alternatives out there like twinote (for twitter) photonote (for instagram) canva (has fake social media templates as i said lol) and others that you can look for (because i personally only use twinote)

⋆ 　 ᶻᶻ 　　 OO6: HELLOFACE 　 ﹒ 　 ★

description:

basically an app for ai face swapping

useful for:

seeing what your face claim (if you have one) would look like on for example dances, fancams, interviews definitely useful for idol/singer/maybe fame drs

cons:

uses ai (i'm personally not a big fan of ai)

pretty underground so the chances that you might not like it are not low

✭ 　　 ❒︎ 　 OO7: ROOM PLANNER 　 . 　 ♡

description:

basically what the name says. it's a 3d home designer

useful for:

making your dr room/house

visualizing your dr room/house

cons:

has paid stuff

┊ 　 ‧ 　⬭ 　 OO8: COMBYNE

description:

an app where you can combine items you like from a wide selection of stuff to make outfits!

useful for:

making outfits for your dr

visualizing said outfits

additional notes:

there's other things you can do on the app like challenges where you can compete to make the best outfit i think?? looks pretty fun i might try it HAHAHA

yuh so i got a little lazy here at the end & i know this is prolly not very helpful because most of these apps/sites are pretty well known but maybe just maybe.. i helped someone out...

HAPPY SHIFTING!!!!!

#reality shifting #shiftblr #shifting #shifting realities #shifting community #shifters #shifting blog #shifting antis dni #shifting diary #siyzuii

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hazbinshusk · 29 days ago

Text

huskerdust x fem!reader. a birthday present for the wonderful, inimitable @mckeeks. if anyone deserves to be lovingly spoilt (and dicked down) by this duo, it is unequivocally her. ❤️ happy birthday, babe!

when you reluctantly reveal to the other residents of the hazbin hotel that you're still a virgin, angel graciously offers up his and husk's services in rectifying that condition for you. and how could you turn down such a kind offer from hell's best couple?

(as always, the dynamic here is one in which husk serves as the hinge between the reader and angel). way longer than I thought it'd be - 7.8k.

featuring: afab/fem-presenting reader, established!huskerdust, polyamory, soft!dom angel dust, voyuerism/exhibitionism, praise kink, lowkey daddy kink, oral sex (reader receiving), handjobs (husk receiving), masturbation, facials, husk has barbs (and you're into it), unprotected sex (it's hell so who cares), gendered petnames, the hotel rooms have cuck chairs (sorry).

“Sooo…” Angel draws out liltingly, his glass clasped between two hands, and you immediately regret accepting his invitation to join him at the bar. His voice isn’t teasing – just curious – but you can still feel your face begin to burn before he even gets the question you know is coming past his lips and into the air between you. “…A virgin, huh?”

Dear God or whoever is listening, if there is any chance that the ground could open up and swallow you whole, you really needed it to happen right about now.

“Angel.” Husk says from his usual position on the other side of the bar. He has his back to you as he sorts the bottles back into their designated positions after a long night of ‘family bonding’ with the rest of the residents. You’re grateful, for once, that his eyes aren’t on you. Husk’s voice is edged with a gentleness you think might be reserved just for the spider. Still, there’s a warning there, too. “Leave it.”

Where he’d usually make some teasing or sarcastic remark, Angel’s silent for a moment. When he speaks again, his voice stays gentle, still curious. “You one of those god-fearin’ types or ya just never had the opportunity?”

You loved Charlie, you really did, but right now…

Right now, fuck her and her bonding activities.

“I just…” you swallow the knot sticking in the middle of your throat, keeping your eyes trained pointedly away from Angel’s face. You notice that maybe Husk’s hand pauses for a moment, as though he’s waiting for an explanation too. Well, who wouldn’t? You might have died younger than most, but not young enough to just chalk up your inexperience to the innocence of youth. “I just never met anyone I liked, I guess. And Hell’s not exactly lousy with decent men.”

“Huh.” Angel says simply, finishing his drink. He sets the glass back down, stretching one pair of arms above his head, the other two behind him. He settles all four of his hands in his lap as Husk refills his drink. And then,

“You should get Husk to help ya out with that.”

Your cheeks flame, and Husk chokes on the drink he’s just taken. Eyes watering and his throat burning with the whiskey that sticks in it, he coughs his admonishment. “Angel!”

You grope for a response, for a joke that’ll get the conversation away from your sex life… or lack thereof. Before you can find one, Angel continues, ignoring the way Husk is still hacking up the last of his drink. Even as mortified as you are, you feel your lips quirk upwards slightly in amusement as Husk reaches blindly for a new bottle before he’s even done coughing up the remains of the first.

“Look at you two, blushin’ like some kinda…” Angel smirks as he glances pointedly at you. “…well.”

You frown. “I really don’t need you mocking me, Angel.”

“I ain’t mockin’ ya dollface,” he replies, raising two hands in surrender. Still, that placid note stays in his voice, something that could be read as sincerity if what he was offering wasn’t such a ridiculous notion. “I’m bein’ serious here. Huskie’s downright godly in the sack.”

Husk finally turns around to face the two of you properly, bright pink staining his muzzle. You notice his eyes dart towards you, and you could swear the blush deepens. The idea that it does sends a thrill through you, and you clutch tightly at your glass as though it could somehow stem the feelings churning inside you.

Husk was Angel’s. You’d accepted that, you had. You’d written off your attraction to the bartender as some silly crush. You didn’t think about him like that anymore.

You didn’t.

“Legs, I’m beggin’ ya,” Husk says, even as he refills the spider’s glass, “For the sake of whatever you believe in, please shut the fuck up.”

“What?” Angel protests, waving a hand almost dismissively. He actually looks confused by the objection. “I ain’t got a problem sharin’ if it’s with a friend.”

Husk sighs, directing his eyes towards the ceiling. There’s a tightness to how he stands, in the way his tail is switching back and forth behind him. He’s still avoiding your eye, his face still warm with colour.

“That ain’t the—” he breaks off, taking a deep pull from the bottle in his hand. He grimaces, tilting the bottle to read the label – watermelon vodka of all things – but shrugs and takes another drink as though it helps him gather his thoughts. Or his nerves. “She ain’t a toy, Angel. You can’t jus—”

“You tellin’ me ya ain’t interested anymore?” Angel interjects pointedly, raising a brow.

Husk stiffens, his ears dropping back against his skull. “I—”

“What?” you finally find your voice again, straightening slightly in your seat. You turn your attention fully to the bartender, and he meets your gaze with equally wide eyes. “You… you were interested? In me?”

“I…” Husk seems to struggle for words for a moment before he sighs, an almost sheepish, self-deprecating smile touching his lips as he exhales. “C’mon, doll. I’d have to be blind not to notice you.”

Something warm and wonderfully light settles in your chest, and Angel’s smile widens as he takes in your reaction. You jump as you feel one of his hands touch your arm.

“Told ya so,” he says, skimming his hand up along your arm as he stands. He continues to caress across your shoulder blades, moving to stand behind you. “Shoulda seen it, baby. How he’d bend himself all outta shape feelin’ guilty for feelin’ all warm and gooey over ya.”

“Angel, I didn’t—”

“’s okay,” he assures you gently, his hands taking your shoulders and waist. He leans against your back, meeting Husk’s eye as he speaks in your ear. Angel’s voice is low; his warm breath against your neck makes you shiver. “Like I said, I don’t mind sharin’.”

Your eyes flick back to Husk.

“So, why not get somethin’ out of it? Huskie here can be real romantic about it… he’ll make ya feel so, so good…”

You can feel your breath leave you unsteadily. Husk’s pupils all but eclipse the gold of his eyes, and his gaze falls to your mouth for a moment before he meets your eye again.

“There’s no pressure, baby,” Angel assures you, and you can tell he means it. “I’m jus’ sayin’, we’d have a lot of fun together.”

“‘We’?” you repeat, surprised enough to turn and face him. Angel wears his pride like a second skin, and as far as you were aware, he never swung back the other way without being paid for it. You try to find the right words as Angel beckons Husk to join the two of you, and heat pools in the small of your back as you hear, feel, the bartender round the bar towards you slowly. You choose the words carefully. “I didn’t think you were…”

Angel smirks, lifting your chin with two delicate fingers. That same heat burns in the pit of your stomach at the gentle dominance of the action. “Don’t panic, dollface. I ain’t joinin’ in the ride. It’s your show; yours and Husk’s.”

He leans down, bringing his face so, so much closer to yours. You feel Husk’s presence beside the two of you, and Angel reaches out to take his hand. Husk takes it wordlessly; he’s so close you can feel the soft fur of his stomach brush against your knee as he breathes. It puts images in your head of him stepping between your thighs, taking hold of your hips… trapping you between his body and the bar…

There’s a heat in Angel’s eyes that makes it impossible for you to look away; one that floods through every inch of you. It makes your entire body tingle with need for connection, for touch. Angel seems to recognize this; he reaches up with another hand to brush hair behind your ear and his smile twitches wider when you shudder.

“I jus’ want a front row seat.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Nerves war with the excitement that has bloomed in the very centre of you, and you feel alien and out of place sitting on the bed, one knee bent against the mattress, the other leg hanging off the side. Husk sits in a mirrored position, wings tucked tight against his back. He’s so close that his knee bumps against yours.

The lights are low, but his eyes still glow as they study you. Your eyes keep falling to your hands where they tangle in your lap before they find his again, and you can feel just how flushed your cheeks are under his gaze. The feathered end of his tail twitches back and forth slowly beside the bed, and he clears his throat.

“We don’ have to do anything you don’ want to, sweetness.” he says in a low murmur, his voice all warm velvet and silk. The pet-name makes you press your lips together, the tip of your tongue darting out to wet them. Husk’s gaze falls to follow the movement, and he inhales sharply. “We… I don’ want you to feel like we’re forcin’ you into anything y—”

You lean forward and press your lips to Husk’s impulsively in a brief, fleeting kiss. You hear, feel, the quiet mrrp of surprise he makes, his wings fluttering and relaxing behind him. You can feel the softness of his lips before you pull away again, your face aflame. He blinks at you before his lips curl into a smile, and your breath catches in your throat as he closes the distance between you again.

Husk’s hand cups your cheek in the same moment his lips meet yours. This time the kiss lingers, and your nerves give way to desire as you feel his other paw touch your knee. Husk kisses you softly, searchingly, his lips brushing gently against yours. Your own lips part, his nose bumping against yours as you take a breath. Then he’s kissing you again and you whimper as you feel his tongue touch your bottom lip, begging permission.

God, the way he groans quietly when you part your lips and meet his tongue tentatively with your own.

Husk strokes your cheek with his thumb, the pad of his palm soft against your skin as he slides his claws carefully into your hair. It makes you shiver and you lean into his embrace, reaching up with uncertain hands to card fingers through the fur of his chest. A rumble sounds from deep within him, a rusty purr that you feel as a light buzz under your fingertips.

You can’t help the light, breathless laugh that leaves you as you realise that’s what it is – you’ve made the bartender purr – and Husk smiles into your kiss as he pulls you back to him, catching your lips again. His touch on your knee becomes more confident as you relax into his embrace, and he ghosts the tips of his claws up over your inner thigh, teasing just under the hem of your dress.

“Husk…” you breathe his name against his lips and he chuckles, eyes closed as he presses his forehead against yours.

“Fuck, it sounds so pretty comin’ from you…” he murmurs, his nose cold against your heated skin as he moves to kiss you again.

Your hand journeys up from his chest to slide through the fur of his neck and up to his cheek, and Husk leans into your touch with a soft smile. His paws close around your thighs and he tugs you closer, your legs unfolding to rest on either side of his. Husk’s touch moves to your hips and he kisses you again, guiding you gently back against the pillows as his body covers yours.

Winding your arms around his neck, you feel his feathers tickle at your knees as you bend them to rest against his hips. The move brings him flush against you, and Husk breaks away from your lips with a breathless sound halfway between a groan and a disbelieving laugh.

“Fuck…” Husk lets his head fall forward, his forehead bumping against your collarbone. You feel his hips rock into yours before he can stop himself, and you whimper as you feel his arousal press up between your thighs. He exhales shakily, brushing his lips against your shoulder, your throat, your cheek before he meets your eye again. “’s this okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod, carding your fingers through the fur at the base of his ear. Husk shudders against you, eyes rolling back slightly at the touch. A crease forms in his brow as he forces himself not to move, not to grind himself down against your warmth. Your dress is bunched up around him, baring your inner thighs to his tickling fur, his breath warm against your cheek. “Yeah, please… do it again, Husk.”

“Christ,” Husk mutters as you tease at his ear again, knocking his hat off his head. He kisses you firmly, deeply, one paw taking hold of your thigh and squeezing the soft flesh in a way that you could almost call possessive. “You got no idea how dangerous you are…”

“Holy shit, you two are cute.”

Angel’s voice breaks through the haze between the two of you, and you pull away from Husk slightly as you’re suddenly reminded that the spider is there. Your cheeks flush with heat; you’d been so wrapped up in the man in bed with you that you’d almost forgotten your friend was watching. Instead of being cowed by his interruption however, you’re almost taken aback by how much it excites you, knowing he’s watching.

Husk presses another kiss to the edge of your jaw before he turns his head to roll his eyes and smile at his paramour. “You plannin’ on jus’ addin’ colour commentary here, legs?”

“For now, yeah,” Angel replies with a grin, lounging comfortably in the armchair in the corner. He’s watching the two of you with hooded eyes, and there’s something almost sensual in the way he strokes a hand lazily back and forth along the velvety fabric of the arm of the chair. “I’m jus’ waitin’ for ya to do that thing with your tongue that’ll make her go blind for a second.”

Husk snickers and, feeling daring, you lean up to tease the side of his throat with your lips. You feel him groan as your teeth graze over his pulse point. The bartender’s hand tightens on your thigh, hitching it higher against his hip. “Fuck…”

“Ooh, she’s a quick study,” Angel coos, and you thrill under the praise as Husk turns his head to catch your lips in another kiss. “Think you can keep up with her, kitty?”

“Don’ call me that,” Husk mumbles without breaking the kiss, and Angel giggles. Husk dusts kisses down over your throat, and you feel him grin against your neck when he sucks a bruise into the curve where it meets your shoulder and you curse. The sound of it is low and throaty and begs for more, and Husk rewards it with a louder purr and a trail of kisses that teases down along the neckline of your dress. You arch up into his touch as his lips brush over your sternum, his whiskers tickling at the swell of your breasts.

His paw continues its journey up your thigh, taking the skirt of your dress with it. His tail sways back and forth behind him, and when he reaches your hip, he pauses, pressing one more kiss to your chest before pulling back to meet your eye. A smirk plays over his features, eyes half-lidded and pupils blown wide with desire.

“You got me at a disadvantage here, sweetness,” he murmurs, lips catching yours again briefly. “You’re a little overdressed for the occasion.”

You giggle. “Well, of course you’d think that; you’re the one who walks around the hotel half-naked all day.”

Husk chuckles, and you hear Angel hum a laugh, too. The cat kisses you, his thumb hooking in the band of your underwear and snapping it tauntingly against your hip. “Cheeky girl.”

You sit up and Husk helps you tug your dress up over your head, and God the way he looks at you…

Pulling him down into another kiss, you massage your fingers against the base of his ears and Husk moans, rough and worn and needy. He retakes your hips as you buck up against him, eager to feel him again with one less barrier between you. Husk snickers, kissing your cheek.

“Slow down, princess,” he tells you gently, claws tickling against your ribs as he strokes them soothingly. He hooks them in either side of your underwear, and you whine. He draws them down your legs slowly, pulling away from you long enough for you to kick them away. “I’ve got you, baby. One step at a time.”

You hear Angel shift in his chair and look towards him automatically. The spider smiles and winks, still watching the two of you with that same addictive intensity. You hold his gaze as Husk kisses his way back down your chest, sliding your bra strap down your shoulder gently. You gasp, arching up under Husk at the first touch of his tongue to your nipple. Angel’s smile widens.

Husk’s tongue is warm and wet and deliciously rough, and you moan as he sucks a teasing pressure around the hardened point. It makes your fingers tighten in his fur, and his other paw comes up to brush is claws over your other nipple. He pinches it and tugs, and the sudden pain makes you jump, and Husk snickers into your chest.

“Fuck, Husk…” you whine, eyes squeezed closed. You shift long enough to reach behind yourself and unclip your bra, tossing it aside as Husk immediately returns his attention to your breasts, paw kneading into the soft flesh. “Shit…”

“Ain’t he jus’ got the most magic tongue:” Angel coos, standing slowly. He makes his way towards the bed slowly, focused intently on how Husk’s back arches as he grinds himself into the mattress between your thighs. “Oh, he’s gonna make you feel so good, baby…”

Husk lingers at your breasts a moment longer, still purring deeply, before he continues lower. He dusts soft, teasing kisses down over your belly, paws smoothing down over the curve of your waist. He pauses just above the apex of your thighs, pressing the cold heart of his nose hard against your skin and inhaling deeply, his eyes closed.

“Christ…” he mutters, running his paws down over your hips and over your thighs, pressing them gently apart. His back arches in a long, fluid motion as Angel scratches his fingers through the fur along the cat’s spine. The spider’s touch lingers between his wing joints, and Husk groans, bumping his forehead against your thigh. “Fuuuuck… you smell so good, baby…”

“Husk…” you murmur, an ache throbbing between your thighs. You press your hips up, desperate for him to bring his mouth lower. “Please…”

“Oh, don’t you sound so pretty when you beg?” Husk rumbles, pressing an infuriatingly chaste kiss to your inner thighs, first one, then the other, his eyes watching your face hungrily. The smirk he wears is maddening, as is the snicker you hear from Angel. The spider sits next to you on the bed, stroking his fingers through your hair. You lean into the touch, eyes closing, a frown tugging at your lips as your impatience grows.

“Don’t she?” Angel agrees, nails scratching pleasantly against your scalp. “Be a nice kitty for her, baby.”

Husk’s smirk widens and Angel slips behind you, lifting you gently just long enough to fold his legs under you so your head is in his lap. The spider winks at you again, upside down, just as Husk finally slides his tongue slowly up over your clit.

“Oh, fuck!”

Angel giggles at the way you gasp, your hips rising off the sheets. Your eyes roll back as Husk flicks his tongue over your clit and the cat groans into your cunt at the taste of you. His paws clutch at your thighs, pinning you against the mattress, and while he planned on taking you apart slowly, the taste of you is already too addictive to let him pace himself.

Angel keeps stroking your hair with two hands, and your own reach down to grab at fistfuls of the fur between Husk’s ears. The bartender’s wings quiver as your nails scratch at his scalp.

Grinding your hips up against his mouth as best you can under his hold, you bite your lip against the downright pornographic sounds you can feel catching in his throat as Husk tortures your clit. Angel smirks, another hand coming up to glide over your chin, gently unhooking you lip from beneath your teeth. He giggles as you wrap your lips around two of his fingers blindly, curl your tongue against them and suck.

“Fuck, that’s hot.” he sighs, and Husk moans between your legs as he watches. “Oh, you’re in for a fuckin’ treat if you get her on her knees, Husk-baby.”

Husk chuckles, fangs grazing your inner thigh for a moment before he slides his tongue over your clit and down into your dripping cunt. He fucks you with his tongue eagerly, pressing the pad of his thumb against your clit. When your fingers brush against the shell of Husk’s ears he purrs again, and you moan, loud and broken and keening as the sound vibrates up into your pussy.

Angel hums approvingly, withdrawing his hand to slide it down around your throat. He cups it, squeezes it just a little, and you cum with a hoarse cry of Husk’s name. There’s no doubt you’re being loud enough to be heard in the hallway but you don’t care, not with the way Husk’s tongue feels inside you, the way his claws are digging into the flesh of your hips.

Husk doesn’t stop until you’re shaking, your thighs clamping around his ears, one hand clutching at the fur between them. You can feel a wet patch on the comforter beneath your ass, and Husk’s expression is decidedly smug as he climbs back up your body, one suspender hanging off his shoulder. Angel intercepts him before you can kiss him, and you whimper as they kiss over you, Angel cupping the bartender’s head with two hands. You can see their tongues sliding against each other and when Angel moans at the taste of you, you whimper, grinding your hips up against Husk’s clothed erection.

He groans, breaking away from Angel with a breathless chuckle. “Needy little thing…”

Husk leans back down to kiss you, and you can taste a heady mix of the sweetness of Angel’s last cocktail and your own arousal on his tongue. When you reach between you to fumble with the fastening of his pants, he closes a large hand over both of yours, stilling you.

“Slow down, pet. I’ve…” he kisses you gently again, steadying his voice. “Hell ain’t exactly left me with the anatomy you’re expectin’…”

“Say it like that and you’re gonna scare her,” Angel teases, reaching out to rub his fingers against the base of Husk’s ear. The bartender purrs, leaning into it instinctively. Angel looks down at you, giving you a smile that’s somehow both reassuring and downright lascivious. “You’re gonna love it, aren’t ya, babydoll?”

You nod, and there’s a surprising thrill that’s curling inside you at Husk’s warning. Or maybe that’s the way his claws trail lightly up over your hip. He swipes his thumb over your clit again, and you jerk under the touch.

“Angel…”

“Look at her, Huskie,” Angel coos, giving his partner a teasing pout. “It’d be cruel to deprive our sweet girl now. She’s about thirty seconds away from beggin’ ya for it. ‘Sides,” he shrugs. “I got lube if she needs it.”

Husk raises a brow. “You’ve got lube?”

“What d’ya take me for? Some kinda amateur?” Angel says, affronted. “Course I’ve got lube!”

The bartender chuckles, rolling his eyes and apologising by pulling the spider into another kiss. You feel his paw loosen its grip where it still holds your hands against his zipper, and you palm his erection through his pants. Husk moans, shuddering under the touch as he pulls away to meet your eye. “We… we take it slow, alright?”

You nod, maybe too quickly from the way Angel smirks, but Husk accepts it and releases you. You make quick work of his fly as he slips off his suspenders, and your eyes widen as his cock is freed from the fabric. It’s tapered slightly, thickening to the base, and along the length of it are small, pointed barbs. Angel brushes hair away from your face, cooing softly. “They’re gonna feel so good inside you, baby… you’re gonna take his cock so good for us…”

You exhale shakily, a sound echoed by Husk as you wrap your fingers gently around the base of his cock. You stroke him experimentally, and the way the barbs feel against your palm… Husk moans as you squeeze him, stroke your thumb over the tip of his cock. He peppers kisses over your forehead, your temples and your cheeks, catching your lips again and kissing you deeply as you pump his cock slowly. Angel hums his approval and when Husk kisses your brow Angel hooks his fingers under the cat’s chin, bringing him up for another kiss of his own.

You can hear every reaction Husk makes to your touch, the way his breath catches, the way he moans into Angel’s mouth. He thrusts himself into your hand, and you stroke your other hand through the fur over his ribs. When Angel reaches past him to massage the base of Husk’s wings the cat gasps, jerking away from the both of you. “Christ, fuck, you two are gonna kill me here.”

You giggle, and Husk grins, leaning up to kiss Angel’s cheek before he settles himself back between your thighs. Your breath catches as the head of his cock presses up against your cunt, and Angel strokes your cheek as Husk slides an inch slowly into you.

“Oh, God, Husk…” you whine, hips shifting as you feel his cock stretch you open. “Fuck…”

“Look at you,” Angel whispers sweetly as Husk pulls back and presses into you again, sliding another inch into you. The bartender groans as you flex around him, his paws tight on your hips. “Look at how pretty you look like this...”

You reach up to clutch at the pillows and Angel wraps his hand around yours, interlacing his fingers with your own. Husk’s body is warm and firm and a wonderful weight over yours, his face buried in the curve of your neck as he tries to maintain this torturous, glacial pace. Each thrust of his hips stretches you further, and it aches wonderfully, each barb of his cock taking the breath from your lungs in a little ‘hahh’.

“You’re doin’ so good, baby,” Angel continues, trailing fingers of another hand along your other collarbone. “Bein’ such a good girl for daddy… makin’ him feel so good.”

Husk moans into your shoulder, teeth grazing the supple flesh. His paw spreads possessively over your waist, kneading into the flesh of your belly.

“Listen to how hot you get him,” Angel says, a third hand scratching the fur between Husk’s ears. “Look at how kitty fucks you… he’s tryin’ so hard not to hurt you, baby. But you’re so wet for him, aren’t you? You’re so wet and so ready and all you gotta do is say ‘please’… say ‘please’ pretty baby and Huskie’s gonna fuck you so deep and so good… fuck you like you deserve for bein’ such a good girl for him…”

“Fuck…” you whine, rocking your hips up to meet Husk’s. He’s almost completely inside you; the way he corkscrews his hips makes the barbs of his cock drag against the flesh of your cunt deliciously, and your eyes roll back at the feeling of it. “Fuck!”

“C’mon, baby,” Angel urges, sugar-sweet. The hand on your shoulder dips lower, teasing over the curve of your breast. He flicks his fingers over your nipple, and your breath catches in what could almost be a sob. “Beg nice and pretty for daddy and he’ll fuck you just how you need it. “

“Please,” you whine, brow furrowed in frustration as Husk pulls out completely, sliding his cock up against your clit. His breathing is heavy, torn with need of his own, and he dips his head to kiss you, hard and deep. You moan into his mouth as his barbs drag against your clit, and you wrap your arm around his neck, your other hand still locked in Angel’s. “Please, Husk… fuck me, please… Fuck… I need you to… please, Husk…”

“That’s a good girl,” Husk sighs, and the two of you moan in unison as he slides his cock back into you, his hips finally, finally flush with yours. “Holy… fuuuuck…”

“Listen to you two,” Angel says admiringly, his voice strung with his own desire. “Sound so fuckin’ pretty together…”

Husk fucks you deep; each time he pulls back he thrusts in again far enough to make your breath leave you in quick, cut moans. You raise your knees higher, trying to get him deeper, and Angel reaches down with his lower arms, hooks his hands under your knees and draws them up towards your chest. The angle makes Husk’s cock brush against something inside you with each press of his hips into yours and you keen with it, the sound tearing hoarsely from your throat, high-pitched and broken.

“That’s it, baby,” Angel tells you. “Tell daddy how good he feels; tell him how good he feels fucking you.”

“So good…” your breath catches in your throat as Husk touches a careful claw to your clit, your body shuddering with the added stimulation. “Fuck, it’s so good…”

Husk kisses the other side of your neck, tongue and teeth teasing over your pulse point before he kisses you again, sweet and deep and addictive. A purr rumbles through him as he speaks against your lips, bumping his nose against yours. “You feel so fuckin’ good, doll. Fuck, you’re like pure fuckin’ silk…”

Your voice comes out high-pitched, a whine that matches the tears burning in the corners of your eyes. “Please, Husk… I’m so close, I can’t… Husk…”

“’s okay, baby, I got you,” he kisses you again, brief but tender. “I got you, doll. Fuck, you’re so… Christ…”

You clutch at the fur at the back of his head, urging his face back down to your neck. Husk moves obediently, sinking his teeth into the side of your neck just as he thrusts deep into your quivering cunt. You moan aloud as you cum, eyes rolling back and rocking your hips up against his as soon as Angel releases your thighs. Husk groans into your throat, keeping his teeth buried in your sensitive flesh until he feels you slowly relax again. He laps gently at the mark he’s left behind, the roughness of his tongue making your body jerk with each stroke of it against your neck.

Husk’s breathing is just as laboured as yours, and he presses kisses over your cheeks, your chin as he steadies his hips. You whine as he slips his cock out of you, bucking up against him as he slides the barbs of it slowly against your clit.

“Fucking… holy shit,” you reach down to grasp at his hips, and Husk chuckles brokenly into the edge of your jaw as he stops moving. He kisses the bridge of your nose and you wrinkle it when it tickles, and you echo his laugh breathlessly as he brings his lips back to yours. Husk purrs against your lips.

“Fuck, you two are hot as shit,” Angel sighs, squeezing your hand. You hum happily, squeezing back, and Husk breaks the kiss to lean up and kiss him. It’s soft and languid and sweet, and Husk groans into it, rutting himself against your thigh. Angel coos against Husk’s lips, kissing him between words. “You still need to cum, don’t ya, kitty?”

Husk nods, groaning as you stroke your fingers through the fur of his chest. “Don’t tease me, legs.”

“Never, baby,” Angel promises with the sweetest smirk, petting the bartender’s cheek. “Now be a good boy and sit back for me.”

Husk does as he’s told, and Angel strokes your cheek with careful fingers. You lean into it contentedly, and his expression softens further with an affectionate smile. “How ya feelin’, dollface?”

“Take a guess,” you sigh happily and he snickers.

“Atta girl.”

You feel Husk smooth a paw up over your calf, and your body warms as you shift to meet his eye. He has his other paw wrapped around his cock, stroking it slowly. Each time he reaches the base he squeezes, his breathing unsteady. His pupils are still blown wide, his wings quivering and his tail switching behind him.

“Roll over for him, baby,” Angel instructs you gently. “Up on your knees.”

You groan at the soft ache between your thighs as you roll over, hear Husk’s breath catch as you bare your naked back to him. You feel his paw smooth up the back of your thigh to squeeze your ass, and you lean back against him, his fur tickling at your bare skin, his cock hard against the curve of your ass. He wraps his arm around your middle, claws digging into the soft flesh in what feels addictively possessive, his other hand catching your chin and turning your face towards him. He kisses you over your shoulder, that sweet purr vibrating into your back.

Angel leans forward, turning your face away from Husk’s so he can kiss him instead, moaning quietly into the embrace. When they part, Angel surprises you by brushing his lips over yours. “Bend over, sweet girl.”

You shudder at his tone, a moan catching in your throat as you do as he asks. Husk moves to slide his cock between your thighs, and he groans, low and rough. Angel smooths hair away from your face as he guides you down to rest your cheek against his thigh, and your excitement sparks even brighter as you notice the spider’s erection beneath the tight fabric of his skirt, only a few inches from your face.

Husk thrusts into you again, nice and slow, exhaling heavily as your warm, wet cunt squeezes around him again. A shiver rolls up your spine as he takes hold of your hips, palms pressing into the flesh of your ass, claws digging into your skin. Angel’s lower hands move to your shoulders, pinning your chest to the mattress so your back is arched almost obscenely. He moans as you nuzzle your cheek against his clothed cock, and he gathers your hair in his fist so he can watch your face as Husk rolls his hips into yours.

“Fuck, you’re an eager lil’ thing,” Angel giggles breathlessly. He pulls up his skirt, and you watch through heavy-hooded eyes as Angel strokes himself through the barely-there lace of his thong, the fabric damp with his pre-cum. “Look at how much you’re turnin’ us on, baby… fuck…”

He moans as you clutch at his thigh, nails digging into the lithe muscles hidden under downy fur. You rock your hips back to meet Husk’s every thrust, urging him deeper into you. The bartender is muttering a string of curses the closer he gets to release, the swearing broken by moans and half-there praise for the two of you. When Angel pushes his underwear to the side to wrap his delicate, talented fingers around his own cock, he and Husk moan in unison. Your eyes roll back as Husk’s hands tighten on your hips and his pace quickens desperately.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuck…” you grunt out each time his hips meet your ass, your throat raw. You reach beneath yourself to play with your clit, the sounds you’re making turning high pitched. Angel’s fingers grasp at your hair tighter, his hips rising beneath you to fuck himself into his hand. “Fuck, Husk… Angel… I… fuck…”

“Christ, baby, I can’t…” Husk moans, tail wrapping itself around your sweat-slick thigh. His feathers tickle at the soft, sensitive flesh of your inner thigh, at the back of your hand as you roll your fingers hungrily against your clit. “Fuck, I can’t—”

“Hear that, babydoll?” Angel asks you, his usually almost teasing lilt broken by his own desperation. Instead his voice is reedier, breathier, and it’s far hotter than any of the moans you’ve heard him make in any one of the pornos he’s showcased for the other residents. “Don’t ya want our sweet kitty to cum for ya?”

“Yes…” you choke out, your thighs shaking, heat pooling in the small of your back. Husk bends over you to press kisses along your spine, and you feel like you want to cry from all the warring sensations. “God, fuck yes—Husk…”

He growls in response, fangs grazing the middle of your back as he kisses the curve of your back. His paws tighten on your hips further, despite himself, and you find yourself thrilling at the idea that he might mark you.

“Gotta – shit – ask nicely, sugar,” Angel reminds you, nails scratching against the nape of your neck. “Beg for daddy.”

“Please,” you whimper immediately; you can taste iron from the way your teeth dig into your lip. You’re so fucking close, each thrust of Husk’s cock keeps you teetering on that precipice. Each graze of his rigid barbs against the inside of your cunt makes heat pulse through every inch of you and you need to feel him cum. “Please, Husk… please, I – uhnn—I want you to… fuck—cum for me…”

You reach back to grasp blindly for him, closing your fingers around his paw. You swear Husk almost whimpers at your touch.

“Cum inside me, Husk.”

The sound the bartender makes is sinful, an addictive mix of a deep, throaty moan and this cattish growl that you hope will be imprinted on your brain. He squeezes your hand back as he thrusts hard into you, his body curving over yours to press his chest against your back as he spills himself deep inside you.

A few more seconds rubbing furiously at your clit and you follow him, burying your teeth in Angel’s thigh in an attempt to muffle the way you cry out as you orgasm. Angel moans loudly, eyes rolling back, hips thrusting up, and you feel the warmth of his cum on your cheek. “Oh, fuck!”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The flush of the toilet seems a little too loud, and you stand on shaky legs in front of the bathroom mirror as you wash your hands, run damp fingers through your hair to tame it. Your eyes seem too bright, your cheeks still flushed and your bottom lip bee-stung. You touch fingers to the bruises darkening on the side of your throat, flashes of the way Husk’s mouth had felt there replaying in your mind.

Even after three orgasms strong enough to knock the breath out of you, excitement tickles between your thighs at the memory. You exhale shakily, trying to calm yourself, fill the glass on the side of the sink with cold water from the tap and swallow it down.

Holy shit.

There a few lighter bruises across your breasts; your nipple aches as you brush your fingers against the darker bruise beside it. You glance down, making a happy note of the scratch marks on your hips. They’re light, barely there, but a thrilling reminder all the same.

Holy.

Shit.

You’d just lost your virginity.

In a threesome.

With a former Overlord and Hell’s most famous porn star.

Holy.

Fucking.

Shit.

Pulling on the oversized tee-shirt you use a pyjamas and wishing you had a clean pair of underwear with you, you take another steadying breath, preparing yourself for an empty room. After all, Angel had explained at the beginning of all this that by going to your room, you’d ‘feel more comfortable telling them to fuck the hell off’ if you needed to. Now that the… experience was over, why would they stay?

So, when you open the bathroom door to find the two of them waiting for you on the edge of the bed, you almost trip over the area rug.

“We were startin’ to think you weren’t comin’ outta there,” Angel says lightly, giving you a reassuring smile. “You okay, sugar?”

You nod, tucking hair behind your ear uncertainly.

“You sure?” Husk asks. His expression is soft, and you’re surprised to see his muzzle is once again stained with a blush. “You look like you’re ready to rabbit. If we did somethin’ you ain’t—”

“What? No!” you assure him quickly, your cheeks warming to match his. “No, I just… I guess I wasn’t expecting you two to stick around.”

Husk raises an eyebrow, and something that could be hurt flashes briefly across his features. “D’you want us to go?”

“And skip the afterglow?” Angel says, like he’s playfully offended or shocked Husk would even suggest it. He stands, and you notice then that he’s changed his clothes – his everyday outfit exchanged for a pyjama set and thigh-high socks. He glances down at himself, offering by way of explanation, “Had to check on Nuggets. And ‘sides, I look cute as shit in this.”

The comment breaks some of the tension you’re feeling, and you huff a quiet laugh. Angel’s own smile widens and he closes the distance between the two of you. he turns and wraps an arm around your shoulders in the same friendly way he’s done a hundred times before, but this time he squeezes your shoulders, another hand coming up to play idly with the ends of your hair. You feel his lips brush your temple as he bends down to speak in your ear. “You want us gone, baby, all you gotta do is say so. But Huskie’s big on the aftercare and checkin’ in and all that. He waited here while I changed – don’t think he’s leavin’ ‘til he knows you’re happy.”

The sentiment warms you, and you lean into Angel’s side. You speak louder than he did, so Husk can hear you, too. You smile softly as his ears flick upward at the sound of your voice, husky and worn from overuse. “I’m happy. Still… not entirely sure if what just happened, happened, but happy.”

“If it didn’t, it might jus’ be hottest fuckin’ dream I ever had,” Angel laughs, fingers playing teasingly with the edge of your shirt. “Now go cuddle up to our boy before he combusts.”

Our boy.

Husk’s worried expression softens into a smile as you approach where he still sits on the edge of the bed, and he holds up a paw to you invitingly. His touch is warm and soft and wonderfully comforting as it wraps around your hand, and you blush when he turns your hand over to brush his lips to the inside of your wrist, a crease between his brows.

“How’re you feelin’?” he asks against your skin, his eyes opening to meet your gaze. You smile, bending down impulsively and pressing a kiss to the lines between his brows. A quiet purr sounds from him at the touch, ears folding down. The fur between his ears is dishevelled and it makes him look younger, less worn.

“I’m good.”

He smiles back up at you. “Good.”

“Fuck, you two are givin’ me a toothache over here.” Angel interjects in amusement, and you hadn’t even realised he’d made himself comfortable against the pillows and the headboard. “Now, am I gettin’ my ass cuddled good and proper here or what?”

You giggle, and he opens all four arms to you expectantly, a smirk playing over his features. Husk seems reluctant to let you go, his hand following you as you move to join his partner on the bed. Tugging your shirt down as best you can to cover yourself, you crawl onto the bed and laugh as you collapse into the spider’s waiting arms. He snickers, wrapping them around you, swatting your ass playfully with one hand. You shove him away with a laugh, breath catching in your throat as you feel Husk climb up the bed and wrap his arms around you.

You settle on your side between them, cradled against Angel’s chest and Husk pressed against your back. His wing curves around you, feathers tickling at your bare arm, his thighs pressed up against the backs of yours. He reaches over you to interlock his fingers with Angel’s, his face tucked in over your shoulder. Husk’s breath tickles at the side of your neck, and he hums contentedly as he inhales the scent of you.

“… Did you two change the sheets?”

Angel nods and grins, trailing fingers up over your thigh idly. “Ya left a hell of a wet patch, baby. Next time we should probably put down a towel.”

You swallow, tilting your head back to look at him. “… Next time?”

“Only if you want, baby,” Husk murmurs into the side of you throat. He shifts, leaning up over your shoulder. Angel hooks a couple of delicate fingers against your cheek in the same moment, turning your head so Husk can kiss you. It’s soft and sweet and wonderful, and you sigh into his kiss. Husk’s purr deepens. “No pressure.”

You turn back to the man you’re laying on, studying his expression. “Angel?”

His smile is warm and sincere, even as that teasing lilt to it remains. “Like I said, baby, I got no problem sharin’ with a friend.”

Husk rubs his forehead against your shoulder, up along the curve of your throat. His voice is soft and velvety, warm in your ear. “’s up to you, pet. We’d love to keep you.”

Again, happy birthday Keeks! Hope you liked this thoroughly un-proofread piece of smut. I am once again letting you know just how grateful I am to have you in my life - we've almost known each other for a year now, and I already cannot imagine life without you. You're an angel, and I love you :)

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pressureplus · 6 months ago

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Sebastian Solace Injury Headcannons

Warnings: Mentions of blood, anxiety, and Injury, but nothing too particularly graphic, You show up at his shop hurt and he takes care of you

(The way he cares for your injuries slightly varies depending on your relationship)

◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟

Platonic

• Immediately starts to chastise you the second he can smell the blood on you

• He doesn't have a nose, so how he scrunches it up is beyond you

• Your med kit isn't free, so you definitely owe him and yes, he will remember you owe him

• You can't refuse tho, he's already patching you up before you can really do anything about it

• What are you gonna do, fight him? Fight a thing more than 5 times your size with claws like steel knives? I don't think so.

• He's pretty good at patching wounds, and stays relaxed the whole time he's doing it

• The motions are practiced and easy as he cleans and gauzes and wraps you up

• "Because I pity you, I'll even let you lay on the cot in the corner of my shop, hmm?"

• Understands you are useless and stupid and small, so he guesses he can help you out and demand whatever extra data you have I'm your pockets about a week from now

• He isn't exactly the most concerned with your well-being, but does go out of his way to help you and take care of you sooo...

• You must mean something to him right?

If you're not together but he likes you

• Actually gets a little worried

• He flusters easily, the crush he has for you making it a little bit more difficult for him to think clearly

• That crush making his harsh reactions harsher and his soft ones hard to verbalize

• He grabs you

• I don't have any other way to put this, he literally just reaches out and grabs you before he really thinks about it

• You don't get an explanation, you don't get scolding, he just huffs and gets pissy while he's patching you

• "I thought you were better than this- You REALLY ended up this hurt over something so easy to get away from?"

• Yes, he knows the foul mouth he's got is tanking his chances of ever actually being with you, but he already figures you're never going to want to kiss a fish so why should he care?

• Even if rejection is imminent and unavoidable, and even if he feels the constant need to be mean to you so he can protect himself, he'll still take care of you

• He does like you for a reason- a lot of reasons. And he thinks about those reasons quite a bit... Of course he wants you to be okay

• You're his favorite person, and he would rather die than admit that but also would 100% prioritize your medical care over working his shop

• Him being so fast to grab and tend to your wounds is probably one of the only things you've ever seen from him that's made you sure he doesn't hate you

• Look, there's no way this man would be smoothing his thumb over your newly applied bandages and looking upset at the notion you'd be hurt without you being SOME kind of important

• It doesn't matter how stupid you are, dummy or not, this shit is painfully obvious when he's getting vulnerable over the idea of you getting a nasty enough scar

• Will not let you leave the cot in the room until you're all better, so get ready to be defensively degraded by your favourite shopkeeper for several consecutive days!

If you are together

• Open. Meltdown.

• Panicking, throwing the door on his little store closed and coddling you like you'll fall apart if he's not treating you with the utmost care

• Even scraped knees and bumped elbows get treated like they need full medical, so you can imagine the sort of reactions you're getting to actually bleeding

• Part of him immediately blames himself while he's frantically tending to your injuries, thinking he should have watched you better today, thinking that he should have protected you right

• The next part of him promises he'll be getting whoever or whatever did this to you back for it just as soon as you're all mended and comforted

• He's a mess, a muttering, coddling mess

• You get little kisses to the bandages, as well as some quiet murmurs that attempt to get onto you for not being careful

• The grip you've got around this man's heart is too much for him to be angry, nor pretend to

• You may nearly make him cry if it's bad enough, and his hands may shake at the sight of you so hurt

• Will threaten you if you even THINK about dying, remember he can do worse to you and will if you don't shut up, he can't cope with thinking about losing you shut up shut up shut up-

• Until you're healed, you aren't leaving his bed. He puts you in HIS bed and cuddles up to you any chance that he gets

• You're going to get teased when you're all better and his brain registers it's not a big deal, but until then this is your big, protective fishy husband whether you two have gotten married officially or not

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eddiernunson · 10 months ago

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I Can Do it With a Broken Heart | Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader | 18+ | PREVIEW

NOW POSTED

Summary: You and Eddie have both had crap luck on dates lately, nothing that can't be fixed with a strawberry milkshake. However, he gets asked out on a date and it goes well...until it turns your life on its head and he forgets how to pick up the phone. You don't even care that he's dating someone else you just want your best friend back.

Warnings: idiots in love, best friends to lovers, ANGST, brief EddiexChrissy, ooc Chrissy, attempted SA, bestfriend!Steve, and needy, desperate smut that makes it all worth it.

Excerpt here:

The puff of smoke that leaves his lips as you approach him should not be this gorgeous, it’s practically unfair. “Hey, Eds.”

He dusts the filter, killing it on the cement table he sits at as he blows out one more puff. “Hey, sweetheart.”

Just from that particular look in his eye, you can tell something is on his mind. “You okay, there, Munson?”

He smirks, effortlessly standing up. “I suppose. I’m not sure how to react. Or how you’ll react.”

Your brows meet your hairline, watching his mind move at a million miles per hour. “Ok, Eddie this better be about a new class of creatures in DnD, or something, because you’re scaring me.”

He smiles, nodding his head over to the halls that lead toward the front door of the campus. “Someone asked me out on a date, earlier, today.”

Your brows furrow, biting back the jealousy that eats at your chest. Every little part of you holds back the monster that threatens to class its way out, to snarl and hiss at every girl that even so much as looks at him wrong. It’s hard to bite it back, to choke on it purposely, but if you must, you will.

It tastes like venom as you swallow it back down. “Oh, who?”

A faint pink spreads across Eddie’s cheeks, much to your dismay. Not once, in your fuck, what, seven, eight years, of friendship have you ever managed to see Eddie blush. (Just once but it was when you nearly walked in on him jerking himself off a few short years ago.) “Who?”

“Um Chrissy. Chrissy Cunningham?”

Your jaw drops, but your gut falls through the floor. You swear you hear it smash through the tilted floors and fall into the depths of hell.

“She asked you out?”

“Hey! Don’t act so surprised! A cheerleader could like me!”

That was the last thing on your mind. Of course a cheerleader could like Eddie, they’d be stupid not to. No. Every other girl that Eddie has either slept with, or gone on a date with brought no worry to your head, competition, per say. But a sweet girl like Chrissy, one that bore pretty blonde curls, a sweet smile and a sweet disposition, this is like your worst nightmare come true.

Thanks to the notion of living in a small town, you could recall 99% of the names that Eddie had told you, whether they be hookups or a date. Most of them didn’t intimidate you, only because, selfishly, you could nitpick at things you think wouldn’t work out with Eddie. Whether they were too vapid, too shallow, had none of the same interests as him, only shallowly liked him for his looks, or was a bully…you had something to give great comfort to you to prevent that little jealousy monster from clawing its way out.

This time, your brain wracked itself for some sort of answer. Some sort of flaw in the Queen of Hawkins High that could settle this uneasiness that has taken over your mind. Nothing. Nothing.

“I’m not surprised a cheerleader could like you, I’m surprised that Chrissy Cunningham asked you out,” you answer candidly, watching in step with him to where you supposed was his van. “I’m guessing you said yes?”

“I’d be crazy not to!” Eddie answered sheepishly, tugging at the sleeves of his leather jacket. “I’m taking her out on Friday night.”

“Ah, you’ll tell Steve to take Creeper off hold for us, then?”

Eddie stops mid stride, faltering, his brows pinched as he gives you those big brown eyes. “Shit. It totally slipped my mind.”

This is also new. Even as his dates would happen any previously made plans with him were always a priority. You just hope this isn’t a new habit of his.

“We’ll do it on Saturday, yeah?”

You nod, giving him the comfort you suddenly find yourself craving. From the pep in his step, the rosiness of his cheeks, the warm glint in his eyes, you can tell that he’s truly excited. As a best friend, you tried to be happy for him, however hard it is to make the smile on your face even remotely convincing.

Eddie curls his arm around your shoulder, tugging you along with him for what is probably another afternoon in his room, clouded by a haze of weed.

You smoked more than usual, if anything to allow his excitement and plans for his big date in two days to buzz into the background, the bong rippling through your lungs as a punishment for yourself.

Final word count is about 24k so I think I'll post on the 15 to give my editor a fighting chance. If you want to be tagged let me know <3

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader smut

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roarieluz · 1 year ago

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Who Do You Smell? (Sebastian Sallow x Reader)

Summary: Sebastian Sallow has had a crush on Y/N for a while now, this isn't news to him but when a strong batch of amortentia is made for potions class it is hard to keep his mind clear of anything that isn't about you and what he wants to do to you.

Warning: contains mild smut as this is about Sebastian's fantasies while in class.

Rushed footsteps trekked along the cobblestone hallways of Hogwarts, echoing into excessive sounds of pitter-patter and endless conversations.

“We have an exam…TODAY?!”

“Did you hear about what happened in Hogsmeade yesterday?”

“You’ll never guess who I saw Poppy Sweeting with!”

Countless students made almost a sea of cloaks as they tried to make it to their next class on time without any pestering ghosts or moving stairs to slow them down. It was almost daunting to try and part the waves of children and teens, Sebastian thought. It was so daunting that he couldn’t help but at least acknowledge the nagging pit of a feeling that told him he would be better off droning away in the undercroft for an hour or two. Alas, Headmaster Black had already warned him that if he missed one more lesson there would be worse things than detention waiting for him.

How dramatic.

The Slytherin made his way to class nonetheless, not due to the threats of expulsion but rather the company that awaited him. If he had ditched, Ominis would give him a terrible earful no doubt, which would be a shame as that would get in the way of all the other trouble their little group could find themselves in. There was also the issue of leaving his potion’s partner, Y/N alone. How could he leave her all by her lonesome? After all, who would give her quippy one-liners to help pass the time in that dreary class? Gareth Weasley? The thought alone almost made him laugh.

His feet paused, finding himself now in front of the open door to the potions classroom. He always needed a moment before trudging into the smoke-filled haze of a room. It was always hotter than the other classes, almost on par with the humidity that suffocated him in herbology. Deep in the classroom, he could already spot his partner despite the slight fog between them. She was talking to Ominis, who sat at the desks in front of them. Her cloak was off, he noted, thrown to the opposite side of their table like a forgotten rag. He took in the sight of her leaning against the table to whisper something into his friend's ear. Her long sleeves rolled up to help combat against the heat that radiated from the cauldron centered on their table.

This is why I come to this class.

“Sebastian! There you are!” Y/N said as she looked up to see him still standing in the hallway. She waved him over with a warm smile still plastered on her lips, a smile she always had reserved for him…at least he’d like to think so.

“Just in time too.” Ominis commented, his tone comparable to a mother.

“Yes, yes, hold your applause.” Sebastian playfully replied as he took his seat next to Y/N, his tower of books hitting the hardwood of the table with a thud. She rolled her eyes at him but the smile didn’t fade away from her lips. It was a look he knew all too well, in fact, he looked forward to it. What could he say to make her roll her eyes in the back of her head? What comment could his mind come up with to make her so facetious? It was a fun game of his, one where he had to carefully walk the line if he wanted to keep her beautiful smile in his sight.

“Sit down, class is about to start.” Professor Sharp announced with a deadpan. He walked in front of his desk, leaning on the stable wood as he stared into the classroom, noting who was present or not. To his surprise Sebastian sat with a smug grin next to Y/N, even giving the professor a little wave, as if he knew he was shocked to see him. He wasn’t amused by the notion, but kept on with the class, not wanting to give him any more attention to his childish antics.

“Would anyone like to explain to me why they might think this month might be one of the most dangerous months of the year?” Sharp asked as he studied the fifth-year’s expressions of puzzlement.

Sebastian raised his eyebrow at the question. Dangerous? What could make February more dangerous than any other month of the year?

He looked over at Y/N, confusion all over his face, hoping to get insight from her. She’s only faced more danger than anyone else in the room besides perhaps the professor himself. If anyone would know, surely it would be her.

She simply met his expression with a quizzical look of her own, shrugging her shoulders stiff, not a single thought to the question. He quickly looked in front to see Ominis, hopefully, he might know instead then. His best friend had his eyes closed and arms crossed as if he was in deep thought….or in a deep sleep. Whatever the case was it was obvious he too was left in the dark like the rest of the class.

Being so deep in thought Sebastian hadn’t realized the sweat that started to form on his brow. The heat in this room got to him a little earlier than he expedited it to. It was almost suffocating and he had only been here for a couple of minutes.

“Nobody? Not a single soul has one idea as to why,” Sharp continued to ask, hoping for someone to at least try and spit out a wrong answer. However, only the sound of bubbling cauldrons and burning crackles from the flames answered him back.

“Amortentia,” the professor simply let out a heavy sigh that oozed with disappointment as he pushed himself off his desk to make his way around the class. Sebastian mentally facepalmed

Of course, February! Valentine's Day was in this blasted month.

“I only teach this potion with its antidote. So don’t get funny ideas for next week,” Sharp warned his students, pointing at every student in his room. “Every year a handful of you try to use a love potion on some sorry soul and every year they get in trouble. So you will know what's good for you if you have any sense.” He added before going into more detail about the potion itself.

He talked about how it was formed…the ingredients they would need…the order to brew. Sebastian heard the words.

Truly.

But as Sharp’s lecture rang on in the background Sebastian’s eyes wandered to his left. Y/N sat there looking up at their professor with half-closed eyelids, her long lashes hanging over her beautiful eyes. She rested her head on her closed fist, her body slightly turned to face Sebastian though her attention still faced Sharp. She thoughtlessly played with her hair, her expression almost dreamy as if she was openly lost in her mind. The air started to feel heavier with the murky haze that filled the room the longer he looked at her. He pulled at his collar as he noticed a dollop of sweat sliding down from Y/N’s collarbone into her blouse. Her cleavage taunting him.

The heat of the room practically boiling in him now with such an image of her.

“I’m bloody hot, are you?” Y/N asked in a hushed whisper as she attempted to fan herself, she glanced at Sebastion when she noted his stare.

“I always am..” He responded without hesitation.

Y/N rolled her eyes again as she had before class started, playful and casual. He wondered what she would look like if he was able to roll her eyes for a different reason. He imagined her leaning over their shared desk looking more disheveled than appropriate. Her pretty eyes rolling in the back of her head as she lets out a deep moan, her lips still forming a devious smile. The thought makes him feel a twitch below his belt as he realizes a small ache had been forming the instant he saw her today.

Sebastian had always had a crush on Y/N, this wasn’t exactly something new to him. There had been plenty of times he worked himself over just by looking at you. Though he would like to think that he would build himself over the entire day… definitely not in just 5 minutes.

“As you line up to smell the Amortentia in the cauldron on my desk you may notice the…. effects…of the potion. Once you leave the classroom they will subside since you haven’t drank the potion. This stuff is so strong, the smell alone can affect you.” Sharp informed the class.

Of course, the potion.

Sebastian awkwardly coughed as he stood up, thankful for his cloak. He was sure every boy in the class must be praising the heavy fabric if the potion was as strong as the professor said. Y/N, Sebastian, and Ominis made their way in line to smell the concoction, waiting their turn. Sebastian noticed that while a couple of people mentioned what they smelled, there were a few who kept that information to themselves. He wondered what it was that made them so quiet. Either way, the damned thing smelt different to each person for some reason. Wasn’t it just meant to make you fall in love with someone? If only he would have been able to pay attention to what Sharp had been saying but he had been a tad distracted by his partner.

Speaking of which, Y/N was the first of the little trio to stand in front of the rather old-looking cauldron. She closed her eyes as she let her hands help waft the smoke toward her. As she took a deep breath in, her eyes shot open as if she had recognized the smell almost instantly.

“What is it? What do you smell?” Sebastian asked with curiosity oozing from his voice.

“I smell…old books, burning candles, and butterbeer.” She said softly as she glanced at the two boys, a blush creeping up her ears as her eyes met Sebastian.

“How quaint.” Ominis commented through a grin as if he knew precisely who smelt like such a strange combination.

Sebastian didn’t think that could be the smell of love though he didn’t exactly know what he would say the scent of love would be like but definitely not old books. Perhaps floral like roses or sweet like cherries? Love in a bottle had to be stereotypical, it made the most sense to him.

Sebastian stepped up, pulling the lid up and letting the fumes wash over him. The mist of the potion overcame him as if he had just walked into a sauna. He felt an urge tingle from the tips of his toes to the very ends of his hair. A rush so strong in his body he could practically count his pulse from the zealous beats his heart made, throbbing in what felt like his throat.

Her.

He could only smell her.

He gulped trying to breathe in anything that wasn’t this potion's musk. The smell was sweet and heavy just like how he thought but it was more than he could handle. He could sink in the delight of it all as if he could be happily drowned in it. He imagined that this would be the very smell that could suffocate him while he was on his knees between your legs.

“Heaven” he blurted out carelessly as the thought of eating you out filled his mind.

“Very descriptive,” Ominis replied, helping Sebastian to get out of his head and back into reality.

“My thoughts exactly. What does heaven even smell like? That could be anything” Y/N asked with a furrowed brow.

Sebastian paused, trying to put into words what the woman in front of him smelt like. It was hard to put into words. The smell was more like flashes of constant memories that reminded him of Y/N rather than what she smelt like every day.

He could smell the rain, the petrichor that radiates from the grass; the image of you running in the storm with him, white blouse drenched and clinging to your chest, raindrops dripping from your hair, the sound of your laughter. What a day that had been, so carefree, so full of joy for just being in the mommet. He kept that memory close to him; a loop he would play when his thoughts went to dark and dreary places.

In the next instant, he could smell the scorch marks from flames nipping at the cobblestone in the undercroft. The heavy smoke poisoned his lungs and filled his mind with such intoxication over the past. The day he had taught you confringo lingering in the back of his mind.

It had been one of the first times he had gotten close to you.

The memory of being pressed against your back, Sebastian’s face mere inches from your soft hair-your locks tickling the tip of his nose. His hand had been wrapped around your wrist as he helped with your wand movements. You had looked at him so innocently then, putting all your faith in him even though you had barely known each other. He could still see the small smudge of soot smudged on your cheek and the way you looked up at him with such big eyes for guidance.

The memory had only gotten sweeter like wine after seeing you master his spell. Seeing you cast it with ease, power, and confidence; that alone would always send shivers down his spine amid battle. He would always be a part of you when you cast that spell…forever.

The smell warped into something else entirely, putting him off guard until he was able to realize the mystery aroma was incense: warm, woody, and thick. It was the same kind that Professor Onai used in her classroom the day she taught palmistry. He had held your hands that day, his large hands engulfing yours in warmth. It had been the perfect excuse to touch you then, so freely and openly with everyone watching. His fingers brushed against your skin softly, his touch could barely be described as a graze but the tension was more than palpable. He had read your palm that day, hoping he could see himself in your loveline. He believes that he did. Even if he didn’t he would find a way to change it to make it so.

“Well, it's certainly not butterbeer,” Sebastian finally responded, putting himself back in the present.

Y/N blushed, flustered by the comment before whacking him on his shoulder. “I should have never told you,” she responded in a huff, making her way back to their desk.

Sebastian followed, chuckling at her reaction but also thankful he was able to avoid having to explain what heaven smells like.

“Does anyone want to know what it smells like to me?” Ominis asked himself as he stood in front of the cauldron alone; the sarcasm and annoyance drowning his words as he found his way back to his desk. Professor Sharp stood before the classroom, waiting for everyone to get their bearings again.

“It seems like some of you are rather open to telling everyone what you find most attractive…that or just the smell of the person you seem to find yourself in a new entanglement in with this week..how brave of you,” Sharp commented with what must be his attempt at an amused grin before going back to his solemn state.

Sebastian glanced at Y/N, wondering who it was for her. Who smelt like old books and could still have her head over heels for them? She had never even brought up liking a person before. His hands formed into fists on the desk, images flashing of someone else being with her the way he daydreamed. He couldn’t even bear the thought and had to quickly stop before he lost himself.

He heard Professor Sharp go into further detail about the potion before teaching how to make the antidote for amortentia. At least that was as much as Sebastian could recall, he knows that was the subject but simply couldn’t tell you how to make the damned thing. His attention was more on you than the class itself. He needed to get out of this classroom and fast before he reached his limits. Even with the cauldron covered the smell seeped and filled the classroom, working its magic on everyone in it. He couldn’t even imagine how he would be if he actually drank it. He understands why people who had been under its effects would practically throw themselves at the person in question now.

You sat there a complete tease and were none the wiser. The way you grabbed onto your skirt from your thigh, hiking up the fabric higher than it was before. He wanted nothing more than to put his hand under the hem and pull it up high until he got a good view of you bent over this very desk. He wanted to push you against the hardwood and pull your hair. He wanted to devour you in front of everyone, to lose himself in you and all that was good. Sebastian loosened his tie, the small material barely knotted as he tried to control his breath.

“That’s all there is to teach. By the end of class, I expect two adequate potions…the Amortentia and the cure from each table. You may begin.” Sharp directed as he made his way to his desk in the back of the room.

There was a wave of silence that crashed over the classroom as the students side-eyed each other. It would seem that no one had paid attention to Sharp’s well-planned and eloquent lecture on brewing love potions. The professor didn’t seem to give it any mind though, he was too involved with whatever he was writing. Sebastian couldn’t imagine that the man was clueless about the tension in the room though. Perhaps he was secretly amused that this situation of all things was the only way he was able to make the classroom stunned with silence.

“Would you be upset with me if I told you, I have no idea how to brew this potion,” Sebastian decided to tell Y/N outright. There was no point in pretending; she would see through him anyways if he tried.

She suppressed a chuckle in response as she stood up and pointed him in the direction of the board. “Not at all. Luckily for us, the instructions are on the board. Come on, let's get the ingredients.” She explained as she stood up and waved him over to follow her. He leaped out of his seat, quick and careless, almost like he was a dog who was taunted by the prospect of a treat. Thoughts of being alone with Y/N in the supply closet made his heart race to deadly rhythms and his palms slightly sweaty. He couldn’t help but let his imagination run wild with fantasies of what could transpire in such a small enclosed space.

The thought of your soft thighs wrapped around his waist while he got to have handfuls of your ass to keep you steady. Messy, hungry kisses that vibrated with moans. Your hands tussled in his hair or roaming up and down his chest. He could feel himself twitch every time he imagined you bouncing up and down against him, grinding him into pure bliss.

Merlin. Could he handle himself with such a temptation of being with you in such a place?

Each step he took across the classroom felt like an eternity, his body growing with anticipation that coursed through his veins like wildfire. His eyes were glued to the sway of your hips as you led the way.

When they finally reached the door, Sebastian fumbled with the handle, hands almost shaking as his mind was still lost in the realm of his fantasies. He could practically hear you screaming his name at this moment. The sound looped over and over again in his head, short-circuiting his brain until he was able to hear a click. The door creaked open, revealing a small, dimly lit space filled with shelves of potions ingredients, and other various supplies.

Sebastian stepped in behind you, trying to contain his desires while his body betrayed him, buzzing in hopeful anticipation of even just being grazed by you. A single touch would be enough to end his suffering at this point. The air felt heavy with scents of herbs that mixed in wonderfully with the smell of you, further fueling his senses.

“So…heaven you said.” Y/N awkwardly commented as she began to gather the required ingredients. Pulled out of his wicked daydreams Sebastian glanced at you with a raised eyebrow. “That is indeed what I said.”

“Are you ever going to elaborate on that?”

Sebastian stared at the shelves, trying to look lost. Shifting his weight back and forth as his hands skimmed the ingredients that were laid out in front of him. “Why so curious?”

“Well, I told you mine… it's only fair.”

“Have I ever been known to be fair?” Sebastian asked as he paused and looked down at you. You looked up at him sweetly, eyes big and bright, cheeks flushed, lips slightly apart. A tempting beautiful picture. He gulped down the need to jump you right then and there. A sad excuse for keeping his gentlemanly composure.

“Are you going to make me beg?” she asked softly.

Sebastian almost fainted. You? Begging him? Suddenly the thought of you on your knees in front of him flashed through his mind. He wondered just how he could make you beg. What filthy pleas could be heard from your lips? How desperate could you be for him? Was it anything like how he was for you now? He got lost in your beautiful eyes as he wondered.

“Would you beg for me?” his voice barely above a whisper as he asked her.

Y/N’s eyes grew wide, her cheeks turning into a deep shade of crimson. Sebastian watched as she stood there a mixture of what looked like mortification and vulnerability washing over her. As Sebastian took a step closer to her he saw how her blush intensified. Spreading like a delicate watercolor painting, the color seeped from her cheeks and extended to the tips of her ears…even down below under her blouse. He wondered how far her blush went.

“D-Don’t play with me, Sebastian,” Y/N replied as she tried to regain her composure. She faced the shelves once more, letting her hands touch anything that was in front of her.

“I would never.” He tried to follow her actions, hoping she didn’t notice how the last minute of their interaction would be the start of his dreams for the next month.

She scoffed at his response. “I know you’re just trying to deflect from the question. Why so secretive? Do you have a crush on someone and are just too embarrassed by it? You know I wouldn’t tell a soul.” she rambled as she picked up a mysterious vial. She looked at it as if she was more interested in the contents inside of it than the conversation but Sebastian could see through her act.

“Crush? I’m afraid it's gotten far past that.” Sebastian replied, freezing Y/N in her tracts if only for a moment. She placed the vial back in its rightful spot before reaching for another random object, much like Sebastian did in hopes of keeping him grounded in the situation. How far should he push this? Should he let the smell of this damned potion, the bottled intoxication of the girl in front of him, break down any walls he had built up in hopes that she would never know he was madly in love with her?

Their hands brushed against each other, sending a shock down to his toes that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The innocent act that was nothing but a soft caress, fanned the flames that were in him to dangerous heights, his yearning for her unbearable

“She’s bewitched me. Hexed me even…I’m sure of it.” He continued to say as he looked down at her. His hand frozen in his place against hers. If he moved now, there would be no grace in his actions. It was his last attempt at trying to keep himself composed.

He heard Y/N’s breath hitch in her throat.

“Do you really want to know?” He asked, giving her an escape but hoping she wouldn’t take it. She only nodded her head in response, unable to speak from the tension that’s now bubbled over in the small closet they were in.

“I smell the rain,” He began to say as he turned to face her.

“I smell fire” He took a step towards Y/N, closing the small gap.

“I smell incense.” His hands intertangled in yours, as he took a step forward, forcing you against the door, making sure no one could interrupt them. Your hands were well above you now as his fists pinned you in place.

“I smell you,” it barely came out as a whisper against the nape of your neck. “It’s all I can smell, even now. It suffocates me. Taunting me with ideas,” he continued, his voice low and dark. “Would you let me do those things to you?” He asked, moving his gaze so he could look at Y/N.

She looked like every fantasy he ever had of her. Under him, panting, wide-eyed, and flushed. He would keep this memory close to him, he knew instantly. Keep this image of her as nothing more than a self-indulgent treat for every night before he went to sleep.

“Is this when I should beg Seb?” Y/N let out in a single heavy breath.

He let out a groan at the sound of her nickname for him, his head falling to her shoulder so he could melt into her.

Fuck

Just hearing her say his name like that made his situation feel painful, making him harder than he ever had been in his entire life. He was scared to find out what would come of himself if he didn’t find a release soon.

“Do I have to beg to get my ingredients?” Ominis could be heard as he pounded on the door causing both Sebastian and Y/N to jump to the opposite side of the closet. Their friend walked into the small room, happy to be blind for once so that he didn’t have to see the sorry state the two were in.

“Congratulations on finding out you two are in fact in love with each other. The rest of the school has been waiting.” Ominis stated with annoyance. “Now can you grab me the things I need?”

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