#white spotted char
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the satrinyavas
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hypnagogics · 6 months ago
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heh.. okay, so you asked for different.. rubs hands together villaniously as i materialize from the bottomless shadows..
sub!vampire!ellie biting/bloodsucking denial.. reminding her how much of a good girl she needs to be even when your wrist is practically just brushing past her lips to cradle her face.. or when the weakest bead of blood is pricked from your finger.. flaunting it.. teasing.. goddess bless throw in whatever else you see fit freakmaster
TEMPTATION WAITS
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before you read! ▪︎ my masterlist ☆: co-president...this is absolutely divine...shoulda seen the way i dropped everything for this im literally #TWEAKING. new fav thing i've ever written methinks. title song. (vibes aren't there but the title was too good.) ps: if you spot any typos i wrote this with one hand. KIDDING...or am i? divider creds—cafekitsune. ◇: not outright smut, but still suggestive!! and nsfw is described. fluffy end bc i think she earned it, lore sprinkled in because why nawt it's interesting, finger sucking (e! receiving), this is maybe a lil ooc idrc, she's described as looking quite ill in her vampiric form + begs like her century long life depends on it fr, (but also has a bit of an attitude, it issss ellie after all), mean!r, talk of blood/previous bite wounds. ++ 3.3k wc. doesn't need to be that long but atp? take it or leave it LOLL. filing under "oneshots" bc it's way more than usual reqs hehe.
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“Please, baby. Just one taste. I'll do anything.” Desperate, shaky pleas spilled from Ellie, her voice noticeably tired from the effort. She's been at this for what felt like forever now, and you were getting tired of ignoring her. Or rather, a little bored.
She was kneeling on the wooden floor by your bed, fisting the creased sheets, trying to capture your attention. The shimmering moonlight was dancing on her features as if it was a sparkle of fireflies, making her oddly colored eyes appear to glow, and highlighting her sickly appearance.
In her vampiric form, her skin was tinted a ghostly—even chalky—white, barely a smidgen of blush dancing on the apples of her cheeks. Her eyes shifted from their original grassy green to a peculiar duochrome blend of emerald and ruby. She really looked unwell, but you knew it was merely a product of circumstance, her gloomy fate.
Ellie donned somber dark circles around her eyes, her lips withered, pale, and thin as a piece of tissue paper. Just behind them though, rested two deadly weapons of her very own—sizeable, razor-sharp, gleaming ivory canines reflecting the scarce lighting as if they were made of mirrored glass.
For the first time tonight, you met her gaze, assuming an unbreakable poker face. Her keen sight could pick out the most subtle of twitches, so you learned to defeat that. The moment you met her line of sight she perked up, her eyes widening in glee, you had finally acknowledged her existence after so long.
Scooting forward you placed yourself right in front of her still kneeling form, sitting so she was in between your legs, but she wasn't allowed to touch you until you said so. What torture.
She began again, “Can I do something to make you change your mind? I'll do anything. Anything in the world. I'll make you feel re-really good, and then I won't ask again…ever even, if that's what you want. Just please let me…I'm so thirsty.” She was rambling a million miles a minute, slurring her words and cutting herself off with hiccups, stuttering like was having a nervous breakdown.
Her chest heaving up and down was visible to you despite the dim surroundings, and you could just make out her facial expression—a pained grimace, as if she was experiencing all of humanity's greatest suffering. When you didn't reply but stayed observing her blankly, she sighed and hung her head in shame, you almost felt bad. Almost.
You extend a hand, twirling a strand of her hair—previously silky and vibrant, now as lifeless and dull as charred hay—and you feel her relax under your touch. You continue raking your fingers through her locks, scratching her scalp with your nails, and you hear her exhale forcefully. She's likely overwhelmed by your scent—it's invigorating, fresh, and full of life.
“Have you been good?” You pipe up with a voice colder than ice, softly caressing the flesh of her tense cheek, and letting your fingertips travel to the underside of her chin. You gently tilt her head up, noticing the way her eyelids flutter to a close. She's soaking up the heat radiating off of you, making sure to feel the sensations of your skin brush against hers as much as she can, commit them to memory for when she's apart from you.
Her lips part, allowing for hushed, woeful whimpers to pour out, and she instinctively bites her bottom lip to quiet herself. Only she forgets about the powerful daggers in her mouth, and almost pierces right through her own skin.
Taking notice, you tut at her, warning clicks of your tongue bouncing off the room’s walls, contrasting the dead of night’s eerie silence. Tsk, tsk, tsk. You push the pad of your thumb down on the plush of her lip, angling her jaw side to side, examining those killer gnashers she's got.
“You could hurt yourself with these y'know, be careful.” Her eyelids flicker open, she's staring up at you with the biggest doe eyes she could muster, somehow all while maintaining such a strong glare you feel as if she's trying to challenge you.
“I'll decide if you can have some, as long as you're good, and you let me have some fun first. Alright?” You explain in a neutral tone, earning a cute “mhm” of confirmation from the undead being before you. “Good girl.”
You slowly slip your thumb into her mouth, avoiding her fangs at all costs, and you let her wrap her slippery tongue around your digit, watching how her cheeks hollow and her eyes roll ever so slightly while she sucks, moaning as she takes in your taste—nothing more than just skin.
You chuckle at her desperation, revel in the power dynamic you have created. “Mmm, you taste so good, so sweet.” She mumbles, swirling her tongue around your thumb, coating the entirety of it in her spit. You allow it for now, but soon enough, to no surprise, she slyly tries to shift to the side in preparation to slice you and get her treat.
You sharply retract your hands from her, removing your finger from her mouth with a pop, disappointed by her greed, her audacity. She turns to the side and pouts, huffing and rolling her eyes with more attitude than a moody teen. “What did I say?” You calmly hiss at her. She whispers, almost inaudibly, “Sorry…taste so good, can't help m’self.” Her voice wavered, and the moonlight illuminated the faintest tinge of red across her features, it was nearly invisible.
But you could tell exactly what was up. She shifts uncomfortably in her spot, grunting with laughable, pitiful attempts to rub her thighs together, fingers toying with the cloth of her pants, putting her frustration on full display. You looked at her struggle, unable to contain your grin.
It was a different kind of high, seeing such a feared and fabled beast kneel before you in such a pathetic manner, but it turned you on like nothing else. It was also evident she enjoyed it as well, no matter how much she didn't want you to be aware of the fact. The extent to which she worships you and handles your body, the way she was willing to beg and let you order her around showed just how much you meant to her—it was beautiful in its own way, how devoted she was to you. You were her person.
The fact she couldn't stifle her desire anymore after all this time suggested a shift in the atmosphere of your wicked games, the tension in the air was getting impossibly thicker, and you were loving every second of it.
Ellie, you've got a short memory.” You tease, then gesture to the gauze wrapped around your forearm, protecting two puncture wounds left by none other than her just the previous night. She looks at it and cocks an eyebrow, grouching, “Yeah, I see that, what about it?” The husky edge to her voice had returned, the defiant attitude you loved to crack was back in full force.
“Hundreds of years old, you even have memories of wars, and you can't remember what happened, like, 24 hours ago? Wow…” Your voice is so patronizing, it's unpleasant and abrasive on the ears, even your own. She shrugs her shoulders, still kneeling on the cold, hard ground at your mercy. “Well let's have a refresher then, shall we?” Tearing the tan-colored bandage apart with a single rip, you reveal the puncture marks—they were still wet and irritated, the wounds reopening immediately at the slightest movement.
Ellie whines like an animal, a crude “ahh”, and she starts pleading harder than ever. “Please, baby, my pretty, my angel, please, please, pleasepleaseplease, just lemme have a drop, just one. That's all, I swear.” Her gaze darkens exponentially, if you didn't know her it would instill fear in your heart, but luckily you were well aware of all her tricks. She snarls, “Fuck you. I'm literally on my fucking knees right now. Why are you doing this?” Her voice breaks angrily, wobbling with great lust and need—the need to have you, the need to drink you and fondle you and taste you in all senses of the word, and at this point she didn't seem to care about preserving a morsel of her dignity, she was simply so drunk on you, you couldn't believe.
You reiterate the previously established explanation, “We have an agreement that says you're allowed to take my blood once a month, so you can have some more each time. Rather than taking a little bit but more often, you requested this yourself. And you already drank lots yesterday. Does that not ring a bell?”
She groans, a gravelly, guttural sound that had you coming back to your senses and realizing, this was technically, a monster who you loved so dearly.
It led you to wonder—to her kind, what was so special about the liquid coursing through your veins?
When you split your lip open as a kid, clumsily tumbling face-first onto the asphalt, or bit your tongue while eating something stubborn, the strange, metallic taste was purely disgusting. It had a certain heaviness to it, both physically with the way it sat in your mouth, but also mentally. Like a subconscious awareness you were not meant to consume it like she does, but to spit it out the millisecond it made contact with your taste buds. There were times where the thought made you queasy, the measly knowledge of just how much of this fluid was inside you, keeping you alive.
But to her, it was a completely different story. She lapped it up with such fervor, such thirst you've never seen before. A sloppy frenzy like there wasn't a single thing more delightfully flavorful.
Her teeth penetrating all the way through your epidermis, dermis, and hypodermis, and straight through the vein wall was a feeling you're likely never going to get used to. It stung, it really did, and you were quick to get all woozy from the blood volume loss, but Ellie knew your limits—even though hers were not even close. Her thirst was insatiable.
The intimacy of the act was a whole separate topic to think about too. It was such an erotic experience, and when probed about it she argues it's better than sex, somehow. When she drinks from you, Ellie is really messy with it, you noticed. Blood dribbles down her chin and stains her lips as if it's a designer lip oil, the distinct deep maroon color sometimes appearing clownish and too intense against her fair complexion.
She was really handsy as well, and you weren't sure if it was purposeful, but you didn't care to ask because you didn't really mind in the first place. It felt nice. Her muscular hands tend to trace your waist as she's suckling, hovering by your ass, and traveling north to knead the supple tissue of your breasts.
And how could you forget about the sheer proximity of it all, even when having sex normally, it didn't feel nearly as intimate or vulnerable as this. Her body would be tightly curled around yours, she couldn't bear to have one meager square inch of her not touching you.
When she drank from your neck, it was bordering on heavenly, you had to be honest with yourself. There was something about the combination of the light headed, dizzying feeling it brought you, her closeness, the licking sensations, and the hungry sounds she produced that all together mixed to form nothing short of a mind blowing, intoxicating concoction.
When you both were feeling it, she'd be able to draw breathy moans to fall from your lips, and would giggle into your skin before sucking harder, leaving bruised marks surrounding the punctures. You read in some folklore that vampires carried a sort of aphrodisiac in their fangs, or was it their saliva? Again, you didn't really know all the details, but the sessions made you both yearn for each other in a way that felt taboo to discuss—midnight feedings often turning into animalistic fucking, sometimes even simultaneously.
Like having Ellie latched onto the side of your neck while she grinds her dripping pussy onto yours, her pleasureful mewls filling your ears, or having her hold your wrist to her mouth while her other hand is pleasuring you into oblivion, prodding against your spongy walls, making your head spin.
The time you spent lost in thought, she had broken the rule of not touching you unless you said so, but all she had done was rest her head on your knee, zoning out, sulking like an injured puppy. Unfortunately for her, you weren't done torturing her just yet. You didn't move her off of you, she was just laying there, grumbling curses under her breath, saying how mean you were, how much she despised you and everything you stood for, although both of you knew the truth—she had said herself, “I've never tasted blood like yours,” and you felt intrinsically bound to her on a subconscious level, these were mere amusements you indulged in, that ended up beneficial for both.
She got her delicious elixir of life, at the cost of you having your way with her for a bit. You hear her sniffle, the little defenseless sound of defeat was able to break your act.
You resume stroking her hair, and she wraps trembling arms around your thigh. “Hmm?” You coo, putting on a sweet facade. “Don't talk to me like that, c'mon man.” She wails, the attempts to regain control over her voice proving unsuccessful.
You took your nails to the newly formed raspberry scabs on top of your bite wounds and picked them off, and she lunges to grab your arm with inhuman reflexes, but once again you emerge on top, having spent so much time memorizing every last one of her behavioral patterns, so much so you knew exactly how she was going to attempt catching you and moved out the way without thinking about it.
“Too slow, you've gotten predictable.” You ridicule her, embellishing your voice with the most fake, sickly sweet tone you could just to irritate her as much as you possibly could. Ellie lays her head on your thigh, sighing. It's like she's given everything up. Her own patience was running out, potentially entering unpredictable territory now.
You squeeze the sides of the hole in your skin to coax a bubble of bright red blood to ooze out, marveling, “It's such a nice color, I see why you like it so much.” You talk to her coolly, ignoring her tearful, yet terrifyingly rage-filled glares, her massive fangs bared as if you were a prey animal she caught herself and was preparing to rip apart.
“Want a taste, Ellie? Have you earned it?” You think out loud, comically tapping your chin to exaggerate the brainstorming act. “Whatever, it's not like I have anything left to say to you.” She sounded heartbroken, you've never seen someone have such sorrow, the sheer misery behind her eyes actually caught you off guard.
"Okay I think you have earned it, just need you to say one more thing.” She nods, a little too quickly, rushing to catch any tears that were planning an escape route down the sides of her pretty face. You cradle her cheek, brushing your thumb against her skin, “Aw, baby, don't cry.” This time however, your tone is sincere.
She doesn't wait for your request, and starts all over again, this is getting old. “I promise everything. I'll make you feel so good, I'll give you whatever you want, please …you're too sweet.” She huffs, “Well, except when you're not.”
She continues mumbling, burying her face in the meat of your thigh, occasionally stopping to lovingly peck where she was laying, quiet smooching sounds. That really melted your heart, you were ready to give her what she needs after so much cruelty. This went on much longer than you had planned, but you were having fun with it. So you decided to abandon whatever you would ask of her. But could anyone blame you?
She slowly reaches for your wounded arm, gauging your reactions, like in the situation you were planning to do something to prevent her, but you come up with a better idea. “I'll do you one even better, Els.” The grin that envelops her face could light up a thousand suns, and melt the coldest of souls. Make vampire hunters quit their careers even, that's how adorable she could be, on the occasion.
You lean back to take your shirt off in one swift motion, and lay back on the edge of the bed, tilting your neck to give her access to the sweet pulsating spot, finding the droplet of drool that falls from her agape mouth utterly hilarious. “Go ahead, I've had my fun.” She hesitates. “But our agreement, I don't wanna hurt you.” “Ellie it's fine, unless you don't want t-” “No I do I do, oh thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you so muchhhh.”
Her gratitude is silly, she's straddling you and kissing all over your neck, face, and collarbones with such care, and you inhale sharply once you feel the familiar sensation of her teeth piercing your sensitive skin.
She has one hand on the nape of your neck, holding you close to her so you couldn't move away, and the other one finds your fingers to intertwine with hers, loud gulping noises filling the room as she messily laps up all that flows from you.
Her bony hips are sat atop your pelvis, and soon enough you feel her start absentmindedly rocking back and forth on you, your breath hitching. You hold her waist to ground yourself, and aid her. She's whispering, mostly to herself, “Fuck that's so fucking good, needed this so bad, need you, fuck- shit. Ah, yes.”
The vertiginous feeling swirls in your head and you feel yourself fading, your grip on her sides loosening, but you don't feel one single ounce of panic, because you know she's got you. No matter what, until the end of time. Or at the very least, until the final bells tolled and you were lowered to your eternal resting place six feet underground.
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rockingbytheseaside · 2 months ago
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✦ How they comfort you when you wake up from a nightmare
(F!Harbingers edition) Columbina, Arlecchino, Sandrone, Signora
(Due to the popular demands of many anon lovelies – I made an iteration of this fic under the same name, but female Harbingers edition! Hope I didn't disappoint, sorry if I couldn’t tag those old requests!)
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It was a mere fleeting image, an illusion conjured by your weary mind as you plunged deeper into sleep. Yet as your unconscious brain fought off the shackles of nightmares, your body jolted awake with a gasp. In the deafening silence of the bedroom, only the sound of your breathing is uttered. It is then, when you sit up, that you start feeling the deft, gentle hands of your beloved shuffle from behind you. 
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✧ You were trying to regain your breath when you noticed something shift beside you in bed. Columbina’s hands silently found themselves around your shoulder, her chest pressing onto your back. 
“Hm, a restless night, my angel?” 
You blinked your groggy fatigue away. With a wistful nod, you confirmed Columbina’s suspicion. She sensed your bashfulness to talk about the dream, not wishing to make her worry any more than she already does when doting on you. 
“Shh… Shh, just breathe. There is no need to feel flustered over something as natural as dreams,” – The Harbinger whispered through a mystic smile. She settled the pillows behind you, pulling you gently to her bosom while she embraced you. “Dreams, like nightmares, are all part of every living being. Some dreams are sweet, while others are engulfing.”
You listened to her voice, trying to ease your mind. You looked up at her; as always, her eyes were covered with white lace, yet her smile remained. Even if she spoke about macabre nightmares. 
“Rest your weary head, now, angel. Want me to sing you a melody?” 
You nodded, as expected. The Dove’s voice hummed a gentle melody in the darkness of your bedroom. Her voice carries a slow lullaby, melancholic almost, as she serenades you into rest. Like a lonesome bird, singing for her one only, telling the other: ‘I am here, with you in the dark’. She embraced you with her voice all while caressing your head and pulling you back into dreamless slumber. 
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✧ When you awoke, the first thing you spotted was Arlecchino's charred hands placing a teacup on the nightstand beside you. You are unsure if you escaped your nightmare by gasping for air, or because you heard her stirring the warm liquid of the cup nearby. 
“You were having a nightmare,” – Arlecchino did not ask, but stated. She sat at the edge of the bed, her coat left hanging by a nearby chair. “What troubles you so?” 
You tried to sit up, but she silently ushered you to remain in bed. Sensing your already dazed expression being haunted with fatigue, Arlecchino shifted to sit closer. Her hand clasped yours in a tender gesture, even though her eyes remained stern.
You hesitated but relented. As you lay there in bed, looking up at her x-shaped pupils, you confessed about the lingering horrors of a crimson moon in your nightmares, how your breath runs short as if something is clawing at your neck. The Knave remained silent, her eyes cautiously narrowing as she observed you. 
“Perhaps the mind plays tricks on us when one is exhausted. Perhaps it's premonitions. Either way,” – her fingers gently came to caress your skin, brushing your hair back. “You mustn't let your exhaustion overwhelm you. Rest, now, and drink something warm.”
Her words were hushed, and her fingers kept brushing through your hair. A smile graced your lips when she ushered for the teacup by the nightstand, but you didn't feel like getting up. Instead, you were content staring at the depth of her black eyes, the red hue no longer threatening but soothing, even if it was the only color in the dark.  
Arlecchino respected your need for silence. Her sharp nails kept gently gliding over your skin, but she never fully let go. Despite her composed attitude and gentle grasp, her mind ran miles as she thought of ways to decimate all troubles for the one most beloved to her. 
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✧ By the time you sat in bed, you heard familiar taps of small, rushed footsteps beside you. Sandrone, as if in a mechanical emergency, stood diligently beside you, her eyes inquisitive on your sudden gasps – “Is something the matter…? Your breathing is hurried.” 
You blinked, placing your hand on your forehead as realization dawned on you. Shaking your head softly, you reassured that it was a brief nightmare while you napped. But this did not diminish the wide peering eyes of the Harbinger. 
“Hm. I see. An unpleasant mental image processed by your subconscious. Then you must be feeling distraught,” - she pondered for a while, before nodding with determination. “Stay here. I must issue you a warm beverage at once!” 
Before you could protest, the wind-up key on Sandrone’s back was already spinning, her body moving in elegant clockwork, ardently rushing to make you something warm to drink. Even her giant servant, the modified Ruin Guard, arrived at her command with warm blankets and a comforter. 
You, obviously, had no say when that robot lifted you while Sandrone organized the bed more comfortably with pillows and blankets. 
Any words of assurance that you tried to mutter went completely unheard by Sandrone. She motioned for her robotic servant to place you back, ensuring you were comfortable first before she gently climbed beside you. 
“No, it cannot be a simple dream. Why would your heartbeat be alleviated, and your breathing labored?” - her voice was soft yet insistent as she scooted closer in worry. “Maybe yet, it's not about a nightmare, but something subconsciously worrying you…?” 
Oh no, you recognized her shift from innocent worry to threatening fixation. 
“... Maybe someone is the reason for these psychological disturbances? A pest hindering you?” 
You placed both of your hands on her shoulders in hopes of calming her down. If something catches her attention, or Archons forbid, her suspicion - the 7th of Fatui Harbingers would never settle down with mercy, despite her innocent appearance. Under your permission, she scooted closer, her smaller frame pressed to your side. Your warmth against her doll-like features assured her that you were here, safe beside her. 
“I won't let anything harm what is mine. Even if it's something nonphysical,” - her head leaned on your shoulder, whispering hushed vows of promised tempest. “My most precious is for no one to tamper with.” 
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✧ As you stirred and struggled in your sleep, you felt a warm hand rest upon your forehead. La Signora sensed your unrest before you could even open your eyes, yet her simple motion grounded you back to reality as you called her name - Rosalyne. 
“Honestly, must I wake you like a mother whenever your dreams are restless?” – she leaned beside you in bed, watching over you with an amused smile, long locks of blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders. “Another nightmare, darling?” 
You slowly opened your eyes and nodded. 
“Hm. Come here, closer.” – she hummed as she sat up in bed, gently guiding you to rest your head on her lap. Even when her skin looked pristine and cold, you felt warm trails leave her fingertips as she caressed your forehead. You let out a deep breath, feeling your bedroom hair brushed away from your face, while Signora continued:
“You know, when I have nightmares, I quickly remind myself that these are nothing but memories. And being held hostage in the past is a weakness,” – her voice shifted lowly. “Do not allow some fleeting memories to take hold of you.”
You listen to her words; the question of whether she still sees nightmares in her sleep escapes you without a warning. But Signora just smiled faintly. When she saw you nuzzle to her, your gaze apologetic and timid in the dimness of the night, she did not scold you; she instead leaned carefully to plant a warm kiss on your forehead, like a Pyro Crystalfly landing in your head. 
“It doesn't matter anymore. What matters is that you are here, beside me.” 
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(the bad thing about writing f!Harbingers for me is that I feel like I'm making random headcanons about their personalities, especially Columbina and Sandrone. We haven't seen them in-game yet and only got Arle as playable. I am biased because I wish we got more Harbingers in each region and not make them background villains. Anyway, thx for reading)
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literaryvein-reblogs · 7 months ago
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Writing Notes: On Colour
Describing Colour in your Poetry and Stories
BLACK Shadow Black, Dusk, Midnight, Blackbird, Blackberry, Ebony, Black Honey, Darkness, Jet Black, Ink Black, Soot, Onyx, Licorice, Ivory Black, Pitch, Char, Gloom, Outer Space, Creosote Black, Melanite, Goth Black, Gunpowder
BLUE Blueberry, Sapphire Blue Metallic, Tiffany Blue (Pantone 1837), Cobalt Blue, Denim, Aquamarine, Turquoise, Sky Blue, Topaz, Ultramarine Blue, Azure, Cerulean, Oxford Blue, Periwinkle, Electric Blue, Baby Boy Blue, Pthalo Blue, Robin's Egg Blue, Persian Blue, Marino Blue, Prussian Blue
GREEN Leafy Green, Olive, Moss Green, Jade, Lime, Sour Apple Green, Emerald Green, Mint, Kiwi Green, Phthalo Green, Praying Mantis Green, Viridian, Greenback, Shamrock, Sap Green, Chartreuse, Sea Green, Pistachio, Teal, Bamboo, Sea Salt, Celadon Green, Celery, Asparagus Green, Fern Green, Neon Green, Jungle Green, Pear Green
ORANGE Pumpkin, Burnt Orange, Carrot, Sunset Orange, Tangerine, Persimmon, Salamander, Tennessee Orange (Pantone 151), Jack-o'-lantern Orange, Florida Orange, Summer Squash, Pale Daffodil, Smashed Pumpkin, Saffron, Autumn Orange, Macaroni and Cheese, Cadmium Orange
PINK Pink Flamingo, Neon Pink, Bubblegum Pink, Salmon, Peach, Fuscia, Cotton Candy Pink, Rose, Carnation, Thulian, Apricot, Atomic Pink, Barbie Pink, Hot Pink, Amaranth, Flushed, Glitter Pink
PURPLE Lavender, Purple Haze, Grape, Eggplant Purple, Plum, Violet, Orchid, Psychedelic Purple, Amethyst, Lilac, Boysenberry, Mulberry, Wisteria, Bruised Plum, Indigo, Mauve
RED Blood Red, Copper, Maroon, Strawberry, Watermelon Red, Crimson, Candy Apple Red, Tomato, Brick Red, Scarlet, Cardinal Red, Cherry, Ruby Red, Coral, Sunburn, Hot Lava, Cadmium Red, Auburn, Blush, Alizarin Crimson, Fire Engine Red, Raspberry, Vermillion, Lipstick, Burgundy, Magenta, English Vermilion, Mahogany
WHITE Dirty White, Albino, Chalk, Alabaster, Cotton, Titanium White, Vanilla, Bone White Egg Shell, Marshmallow, Ivory, Pearl White, Almond, Champagne, Blond, Cream, Milky White, Corn Silk, Bleach, Navajo White, Ghost White, Light, Cloud White
YELLOW Canary Yellow, Lemon, Banana, Egg Yolk Yellow, Mellow Yellow, Chanterelle, Mustard Yellow, Corn, Goldenrod, Amber, Pineapple, Metallic Gold, Cadmium Yellow, Wheat, Tuscan Sun, Butter, School Bus Yellow, Yellow Ochre, Citron, Dandelion
BROWN Mud Brown, Beaver, Caramel, Rust, Macaroon, Toasty Brown, Coffee, Sandy Tan, Cocoa, Honey, Chocolate, Burnt Sienna, Mocha, Seashell, Antique Brass, Bronze, Brown Sugar, Chestnut Brown, Taupe, Burnt Umber, Khaki, Dark Sienna, Light Chocolate, Sepia
GRAY Stone Gray, Ash, Metallic Silver, Platinum, Smoke, Concrete Gray, Mercury, Steel Gray, Mist, Titanium, Charcoal, Slate, Sterling Silver, Tungsten, Old Coin Gray, Iron Gray, Chrome, Magnesium, Overcast
MIXED Candy Cane (red and white), Zebra (black and white), Chameleon (many different colours), Ladybug (black and red), Wildfire (yellow, orange and red), Tiger (orange, black and white), Yellow Jacket (black and yellow), Christmas Lights (red, white and green), Rainbow (red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet), Black Pepper (black and gray), Leopard (spotted gold and black), Creamsicle (orange and white), Candy Corn (orange and white), Iceberg (a bluish gray), Marbled
COLOURS: Symbolisms, Associations & Psychological Effects
Black. Especially in Gothic literature from the West, a black colour choice often represents death, evil, grief, and depression. Associated with fear, the unknown and often has a negative connotation. Black clothes can make you look thinner. A black background severely diminishes the readability of most type. Often the go to colour for funerals and grieving. It symbolizes stability and power, which gives a sense of authority. Thus, the black colour often represents professionalism and expertise.
Blue. Has positive and negative connotations in colour psychology. Some writers may use blue to represent serenity and tranquility, instilling a scene with a calming effect. Blue can also signify sadness, melancholy, or isolation. People who find someone very loyal and faithful are often called "true blue". Blue is often considered to be more masculine which is why it is often the colour of choice when choosing a suit. Lighter blues are associated with tranquility, softness and healing. Darker blues are associated with power, knowledge and seriousness. Blue is actually shown to suppress appetites a bit. The colour blue symbolizes wisdom and hope. It’s the colour of peace and confidence. Blue has been shown to reduce blood pressure and pulse rate. It fosters serenity and a sense of belonging.
Green. The colour green often symbolizes rebirth, growth, peace, jealousy, and greed. Green colours may also represent spring and renewal. It is a colour that is very easy on the eyes. Dark green is often associated with ambition. Green suggests stability, safety and hope. At the same time, it may denote a lack of experience in a particular field. Green symbolizes peace, growth, and nature. It is the colour of success, promoting healing and tranquility.
Orange. The colour orange often represents energy, excitement, joy, and creativity. Since orange is the colour of fire, it may also symbolize heat. Since orange is not as aggressive as red, it can actually stimulate brain activity. It is very useful to catch someone's attention, which is why it's used a lot to advertise food and toys.
Pink. The colour pink symbolizes love, kindness, femininity, innocence, and playfulness. Certain shades of pink can limit aggression. Pink may be associated with unconditional love and caring.
Purple. Often associated with royalty, the colour purple symbolizes bravery, spirituality, and luxury. Light purple usually brings up romantic or nostalgic feelings; while a darker shade can make you feel gloomy or sad.
Red. The colour red symbolizes some of the most powerful human emotions, like passionate love or lust. On the other side of the spectrum, this warm colour is also the colour of blood, often symbolizing anger, danger, and violence. It stimulates the appetite. Red is an emotionally intense colour associated with energy, danger, anger, passion and determination. The symbolic meaning associated with the colour red is passion, excitement, and love. It’s the colour of urgency, power, and desire. Red is said to boost hunger and is believed to inspire confidence and excitement. This colour has also been found to increase blood pressure and heart rate.
White. This primary colour traditionally symbolizes innocence, peace, and cleanliness. In Western cultures, the colour white also represents purity and virginity, while it symbolizes mourning in some East Asian cultures. Usually has positive connotations when used and thought of as safe. Associated a lot with healing, simplicity and sterility, which is why it's used in hospitals and healing centers as much as it is. The symbolic meaning of the colour white is truth and sometimes even indifference. It encourages feelings of safety and cleanliness. Clean, white clothes and linens show sterility since stains are easily visible. That’s why doctors and nurses frequently wear white lab coats and scrubs.
Yellow. Writers may use the colour yellow to symbolize creativity, happiness, optimism, and warmth—think of a yellow ray of sunlight poking out from a dark cloud. A common negative connotation of the color yellow is cowardice, popularized by the phrase “yellow-bellied.” Warming effect which stimulates body and mind. Gold is associated with the highest of luxury. When bright yellow is used with black it's one of the easiest colour combinations to see from long distances; when uses with lighter colours it's not so easy to see. Yellow ribbons are worn as a symbol of hope and used quite often to welcome home loved ones. Yellow is the colour of warmth, kindness, and happiness. It’s often associated with optimism and well-being and promotes energy.
Brown. This warm, earthy brown colour may symbolize dependability, comfort, and a sense of being grounded. Brown is also a neutral colour, and writers may use it to represent dullness and predictability. Brown is a colour that is related to very grounded traits such as simplicity, practicality, common sense and hard work. Can also be associated with those that are frugal and not too flashy.
Gray. Lighter grays are often thought of as more feminine while darker grays more masculine. Gray is considered by many to be a neutral colour; the perfect balance between light and dark / good and evil. Pop up the lighter grays and add a little shine to it, and thought immediately turns to silver, which correlates to wealth.
Sources & related articles: 1 2 3 4 5 ⚜ More: Notes ⚜ On Colours
If these writing notes helped with your poem/story, please tag me. Or leave a link in the replies. I'd love to read them! Writing Resources PDFs
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caramelcleopatraa · 7 months ago
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I'mma need some more Cody from you...
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Finding out what turns each other on
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His turn on: watching you dance
He didn’t realize how much you liked to dance until he watched you cook. He sat at the marble island, tapping endlessly into his computer and caught a glimpse of you moving your hips to the beginning of “Big Mama” by Latto. Holding your hands above your head and creating a figure 8 with your hips while keeping an eye on the food sizzling on the hot pan. While he had his eyes on you. Observing your body move to the music, completely forgetting about his business on his computer. He kept watch as your hands dragged down your hair, to your shoulders, to your hips. Sadly, you stopped to check on the food. But the tightness in his jeans told him he wasn't done seeing you dance.
“Honey, are you about done with the food?” You look back at him and answer, “Yeah, why?”
“I want you to dance for me.”
Your turn on: him wearing cowboy hats
It was hot and humid. You sat in an open chair under an umbrella watching Cody from a distance. You told him that you were hungry, so you left him to get a plate of food while he continued line dancing. You scraped at the plate, picking up a hefty scoop of food and found Cody with his shirt off, and a white cowboy hat on. His body glistened in the sunlight and his face was shaded from the broad hat. You watched him as he bit his lip, dancing with the crowd of people that formed around him. How he got that hat? Hell if you know, but God did he look good with it on. After a few minutes, he stopped dancing, making his way to you, spotting an empty char next to you. He sat down, panting with his hands resting on the buckle of his brown leather belt.
“When did you get that hat?” 
He looked at you, smiled, and pointed to the snow white hat. “Some random person gave it to me. Said I can keep it.” You tilted your head while looking him up and down.
“Keep that hat on when we get home.”
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🏷️ tags :) @reignsboy19 @2-muchsauce @theninthwonder @harmshake @alichesmi @thesamoanqueen @alyyaanna @empressdede @badbitchcentralinc @christinabae @fame-ass-ers @southerngirl41 @cyberdejos2 @murrylove @sassginaswanmills @pixiedust4000 @shes2real @pittieprincess22
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rei-ismyname · 2 months ago
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Resurrection of Magneto Highlights 1
RoM is a book that loses something in the highlight format as the big moments are truly earned and impactful. There's an ongoing narration, dialogue or soliloquy running through each issue tying everything together and to truly give context I'd have to annotate it. Lucky for us, Al Ewing and Luciano Vecchio are masters and every panel serves as a coda for Storm or Magneto from SWORD and X-Men Red. This is easily my longest Highlights yet, there's just so much to say.
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I wish I dreamt about Magneto
Ororo has a dream of a full page splash - Magneto, Max, saying 'I was wrong' surrounded by five of his iconic helmets. 3 red ones, bloody and facing towards the world. 1 black, 1 white upright behind his back. It's been quite a while since Uranos the Undying tore his heart out on Judgement Day but it's good to see Ororo has some measure of peace and love on Arakko with Craig of NASA.
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She's the deuteragonist of RoM so she chooses to follow her dream and seek Max in the afterlife. Ororo shows up at Adam Brashear/The Blue Marvel's underwater base and asks for help with exactly that. He lampshades how bozos like Reed would deem it impossible and leads her to a portal. He's in the middle of explaining how dangerous it is and requires... we don't hear because Storm takes a running leap and YOLOs into it. Tarn the Uncaring and a who's who of Marvel cosmology are there to greet her. Tarn is insulted that Ororo has come for the guy who exploded his head, but as above, so below - he loves to talk and she outwits him.
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Ashake is often obliquely referred to but very rarely directly, so it's lovely to see her magical ancestor here to help. As Ororo pets her black cat, Ashake confirms this is a place of magic. Symbols and metaphors are powerful here - something Mags could use help with in his current state. It's also connected to the Kabbalistic tree of life, but I'm not very knowledgeable about that.
Two redrawn and recoloured keystone moments of Max and Ororo's relationship down the bottom.
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She resolved to see this through and her thought carries her towards the Sphere of Judgement. Unexpectedly a bunch of Dominions bar her path, though luckily the two mutants are too small to truly be of interest to them. Still, a single mortal arriving in Overspace is significant and they prompt her to ask questions. The face of Dominions are shown but it's still fairy tale rules. The most important thing she learns is about Enigma, though she doesn't know it at the time.
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The Sphere of Judgement is hostile, everything is inverted. Lightning is red, the river is lava, clouds are black, everything is broken. She notices this spot from her dream and the charred frames of Max's five helmets still sit in blood. Magneto has been here for months by choice, bypassing the Waiting Room Wanda built but refusing to move on. He believes he deserves this.
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Finally she reaches Magneto weeping blood in front of a wall of names. Everyone he ever killed and he's counting every one, remembering their name. He's judging himself, punishing, and doesn't think he deserves to leave.
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He shares his greatest shames, his most recent cruelties. Worst, the ones he convinced himself was necessary. He's overwhelmed by the red in his ledger and in this place of judgement lashes out, flinging names off the wall at Ororo while naming the person. What snaps him out of it is the mention that something happened to Charles, heh.
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'The no-place of his heart' 👌
Max turns the judgement on Ororo but she rejects it, calling him out for extending Charles the grace he won't extend to himself plus a little hypocrisy. Magneto has always been prone to drama and that tendency can hurt as much as it heals.
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That really gets him going, but he's judging himself more constructively now. Love, friendship, accountability. The things that are keeping some part of tethered to the living world. He pulls one more name down to say the name aloud before he sends it at Ororo - it's his - Max Eisenhardt. Still, he cries 'it's out of our hands.' He truly wants to give up but I think a part of him knows his story isn't done.
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Ororo disagrees. Displaying why she's the only person who could assist in the resurrection of Magneto, she covers his eyes and remembers the rules of this place. The wall of the dead becomes its opposite - the wall of the living. Not those he killed but those he saved. It's enough to pull him out of punishing himself. Neither group should be forgotten but he can choose to save life rather than take it - to change.
Torturing yourself in a personal hell might appease some of those dead, but accepting responsibility to the living should be what comes after judgement. Suffering helps no one, and as he says to Logan as he's about to kill Charles much later - 'no more martyrs.' Part of why I enjoyed Magneto identifying Logan Behavior is because he himself is the king of it. Charles too. All three are prone to martyrdom but dying is easy. It's living that's difficult and worthwhile. Secluding yourself from the world, whether it's in the Sphere of Judgement, a mega prison, or with a pack of wolves - is senseless and selfish. Living is better.
Next time - what does that actually mean for both of them and how do they get out of this place? It's not as simple as turning a key. Choosing to live is hard work. Metatextually, change and rebirth requires a tour of all that he is, all that he's done. What's the point of killing a character and then bringing them back the same as they were? Comic books do it all the time, but Magneto's long history is a study of opposites and extremes. He, the writer and the reader all need to deconstruct Magneto so he can be reconstructed as a better person. With the benefit of hindsight we know he succeeds, but what does that actually look like for him? 60 years of his oversized influence on the world is a lot and it only gets better from here.
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mediumgayitalian · 9 months ago
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prev
———
Hand tight around the handle of his sword. Shadows pulled close, close, closer; cloak, hood, shroud. Still as a stone, hardly moving, barely breathing, waiting, waiting, tensing.
The whispers outside his cabin door grow louder.
He shot awake half an hour ago. A shift, under the cracked-open window, rustling, turning. Fabric, maybe, or fur brushing across the polished stone of the wall. Not a hellhound — he’d feel the bent shadows of its presence — nor any other creature from the Underworld, but clearly something dark, foreboding. Some heavy, stifling presence. And many of them, too, or perhaps one thing that is growing. It shouldn’t be possible within camp borders, but he can — feel it. A sense of ambush, of impending attack.
Every few minutes there’s a shake at his door handle. A wiggling of the Stygian iron metal, a whisper of sound as it’s jiggled, fruitlessly, a hiss as something draws away. The sound of quiet, throaty murmurs, muffled through the obsidian door. Escalating. Louder, louder; angrier, frantic.
Something is waiting for him.
It’s some comfort that it can’t get in. The handle was his design — not that most monsters would try to use it, but the burn as it touched their flesh, the threat of the Pit, would certainly would deter them. The obsidian doorway he insisted upon, regardless of skeletal complaints, was for practicality as much as pageantry. He has spent enough time in the well-run Land of the Dead to take notes from his father, paranoid he may be.
The noises, though, still grow stronger. Whatever is waiting for him has not been deterred by his fortifications, nor frightened by his aura of death. The handle jiggles again, and this time, the intruder is smarter — the lock turns, clicking as it is overcome, handle turning to follow it slowly, slowly. Nico holds his breath, gliding along the shadow, hovering in the doorway.
The door swings silently open. A clumsy lump of something steps hesitantly forward, huge and cumbersome; bulbous. At the front of it is a single long, glowing talon. The intruder pauses, contemplating, in the flood of low light, the cabin’s twisting shadows, turning slowly, carefully around. Nico glides along the floor, guessing at its blindspot, holding close to himself, waiting, waiting.
One.
The creature pauses.
Two.
The talon twitches to the left, following the creak of the settling bed springs.
Three.
Nico surges forward, bringing down his sword. It clangs against the talon, reverberating outwards, echoing the screams of the monster and tear of fabric —
“Nico! Nico! It’s us! Cool it! Watch the sword! Watch the sword!”
A burst of fire shoots upward, enveloping the cabin in a burst of white light. Nico hisses, nearly dropping his sword in his hassle to clamp his hand on top of his eyes, hunching protectively forward.
“Leo! Fucksake, you tryna blind us?!”
“Sorry! Sorry! He freaked me out, I flamed too hard!”
“Just fuckin’ — scream, next time! Jesus! I’ve gone blind!”
“What the fuck,” hisses Nico, blinking the spots out of his eyes, “are you idiots doing?”
In front of him stands not a monster but five infuriatingly familiar faces, each holding — for some reason — a mattress. Percy’s sword is still held loosely in front of him, and Jason’s jacket has been singed. Piper and Annabeth blink spots out of their eyes. Leo stands, in the charred ruins of his mattress, wringing his hands.
He glances up at the ceiling. Nico follows his gaze, noting where the black rock has been re-vulcanized into glass from the heat of the flames. He looks back down.
“From the bottom of my heart,” Leo says, solemnly, “my bad.”
Nico sinks to the floor with his head in his hands.
His friends, for some reason, take this as a cue. The heavy door is pushed back closed, cutting off the last of the low light from the Greek fire torches outside and the whistling of light wind. Someone feels around for a light switch, and, upon finding none, shrugs and pokes Leo until his nose catches fire, guiding him around until all the lamps and fairy lights have been located and turned on. Someone else — Annabeth, he guesses — begins instructing mattress placement, directing a crew to dig through his closet for linens. A comment about how spacious it is now that he’s not in it pops into his mind and he shoved it back down. He will not make light of the situation. He won’t.
“What the fuck,” he reiterates, louder this time.
Nobody answers. A faucet starts running in his background, and he hears the flip of a drachma.
“If nobody answers me in the next ten seconds I’m going to reanimate Andre the Giant and have him bodily throw y’all out. He will not be gentle. He will —”
“Y’all count,” they all say at once. Percy, gleefully from the bathroom’s running faucet, calls, “I’ll keep track! Remember if it goes over twelve I win!”
Nico snaps his mouth shut, ears burning.
Why has he remained at camp, again? He trained with Achilles and Patroclus. He learned how to read with Literal Shakespeare. Alan Turing taught him math. Not successfully, or anything, but still. He has no bearing here. He could be anywhere he wants to be, and for some reason he is putting up with unrepentant disrespect.
Nico four months ago would smite them. Nico five months ago would turn them to shadows for their insolence. Nico a few weeks ago, even, would have at least sulked off into the forest to cool of for several days.
Here he stands, Nico of tonight.
Unmoving in the centre of his sieged cabin.
No Andre the Giant raised.
No terrors inflicted.
Hardly even a threat.
What the shit.
“What love does to a young lad, eh?” Piper says, patting him condescendingly on the head. He aims a kick for her knees, which she unfortunately dodges, cackling and scampering away. He surges after her.
“I am several decades older than you, you little snot, what are you even talking about —”
“Older and uglier, you wrinkly ass bitch —”
“Guess who’s gonna be ugly when I remove the flesh from her body —”
“Ha! Catch me first, shrimp arms —”
“It’s working! I got it!” Walking very carefully, not unlike a toddler holding a too-full open cup for the first time, Percy steps out of the bathroom, faucet finally off. In his cupped hands is a quickly spinning vortex of sink water, letting off a fine mist. A prism taped to the side of his forehead refracts a rainbow into it. “Say hi, Hazel!”
“Hi,” says Hazel, waving from her surprisingly solid connection. She meets Nico’s eyes, grinning. He matches it immediately, dropping Piper out of the headlock he had her in.
“Hey,” he says, ignoring Piper’s dark muttering and promises for revenge. “You look eager.”
“I am eager. I heard we’re having a sleepover and talking about boys!”
“…You heard what.”
Percy shucks off his shoes, stepping gingerly over Jason and plopping right in the middle of the mattress pile, legs crossed. Nico realises for the first time that he is wearing pattered Superman pajamas, which is frustratingly endearing. He shifts the water vortex so that Hazel’s projection faces him.
“I’m so pumped,” he says earnestly. “I’ve never done this before. I’m so intrigued. Do we talk shit? Is that how it’s done? Is there swooning? I have a plan if there’s swooning.”
“We’ll get there, Seaweed Brain.” Annabeth brushes a hand through Percy’s hair as she walks by — somehow dignified, which is impressive, Nico has never seen anyone wobble over a mattress elegantly before — and presses a kiss to his forehead. He leans into it. “Ease into it.”
“Yeah,” Hazel snickers. She sticks her tongue out at Nico’s glare. “Don’t spook him.”
Nico throws his hands up. “Don’t spook me, she says. Heaven forbid anyone tell me what’s going on.”
“Well, you’re trying to court that boy, right? The cute one with the motormouth?”
Crazy how two sentences can reach down your throat, grip onto your beating heart, squeeze out your soul, drag it from your body, still pulsing, and leave it to actively shrivel on the floor next to your withered, fetal-positioned body to the audience of your cackling friends. Genuinely wild.
There’s a woman who wanders around the poplar fields of his father’s kingdom and has for tens of thousands of years — longer than even his father. Legend says she is the first user of language as it is understood in modernity. Nico may have to beat her up the next time he sees her. Or, well, try, ‘cause she’s jacked, but her crime cannot go unpunished. How dare she introduce the curse of language upon the human race.
“Which one of you,” he croaks, voice cracking more than Jason’s old man joints when he sneezes, “you — fuckers, told my sister about — about.”
If he says his name he’ll die. Like Voldemort except not stupid.
When he looks up, all five of them hold their hands proudly in the air.
“It was more of a conference call,” Jason explains. “And it was less ‘us telling’ and more us calling to say hey, Hazel, Nico keeps shutting down every time this particular person smiles at him, and then Hazel went oh, is it the medic boy he keeps rambling about when he calls me, and we went yeah, totally, can you elaborate on the rambling —”
“Cool.” Nico scrambles to his feet, brushing off his sweatpants, tucking his sword under his arm. “I’m going to go drown myself, if y’all will excuse me.”
He barely makes it one quarter step away from the stupid fucking mattress pile.
“Initiate part two of the plan!” Annabeth hollers.
“Y’all count!” Percy yells.
Without waiting to be chased, Nico sprints for the door. Immediately a fireball is launched at the handle before he can reach, melting it. He veers for the window, but a gust of air slams it shut, and a shining dagger pins the lock in place. In his final desperate dive for the nearest shadow, Piper sprints over — curse her long legs — and tackles him to the ground, rolling them both towards the nearest light source.
“Every single one of you —”
“Ow! Teeth away! Teeth away! Don’t make me muzzle you!”
“—except you, Hazel, never you —”
“Jason! He’s fuckin’ — his nails are clawed into the doorframe, help me!”
“—will be facing me in judgement day! And I shall not be lenient!”
“Quit trying to bite me or I’ll beat you up again!”
“No! Suffer!”
Conveniently, a spot on the uncomfortable floor has been left free of mattresses and pillows and beddings so that Nico and Piper can claw the shit out of each other properly. He lands a good hit on his collarbone, but she jams her heel into his ribs when he foolishly leaves his left side open. He manages to pin her arms to her sides with his legs, but she mirrors the move and squeezes her thighs around his neck.
“Do you usually just let them kill each other?”
“Oh, yeah, don’t worry about it. They didn’t get to spar yesterday so they’re a bit pent up, they’ll be fine soon.”
“…Must be a Greek thing.”
“Don’t you guys have Violence Fridays?”
“Uh, not quite.”
“We have war games,” Jason explains, “but there are generally repercussions for aiming for one’s jugular.”
Annabeth frowns. “Well, that seems flawed. How do you children ever learn to defend themselves?”
“If I recall correctly, by surviving to adulthood.”
“Touché.”
Knowing the scolding he’s about to get is going to be fierce, Nico rolls them both towards his (thankfully untouched) bed, sinking them into the shadows under it and popping up on top of Jason’s reclining body. As he planned, the combined chaos of Jason’s screech and Piper’s nausea gives him just enough leeway to kick himself free and scramble away behind Annabeth. Not that she’ll usually protect him, but he has a feeling that she has an itinerary and is therefore invested in keeping them on task.
“Okay,” she says, holding Piper back by the forehead — success. “Piper, put the nails away. Nico, quit making faces at her or I’m gonna let her claw you. Go sit on opposite ends of the mattress pile.”
“You’re not the boss of me,” they both say, immediately cowering and Annabeth’s glare and scampering to do as asked.
“Thank you. Alright, everybody grab a blanket and gather around. Nico, is there a — thermostat in here, or something?” She tightens the skull-patterned blanket (that she stole from his closet like the thief that she is) around her shoulders. “It’s freezing.”
Nico sniffs haughtily. “I prefer to have my external environment the internal temperature of my soul.”
He smiles smugly to himself at the chorus of boos that echo around him. That was a good one. He feels no shame.
“You should,” Percy tells him seriously.
“Stick your finger in a socket.”
Annabeth tosses an overflowing binder into the centre of the mattress pile before they can really start to go at it.
“Be quiet and behold,” she says grandly, “the plan.”
Nico stares at it dubiously. “The plan.”
“Yes, the plan.”
“Say plan one more time and I’m chewing the floor.”
“You’re such an odd person.”
“Having your fucked up ghost mentor put you in a labyrinth to be hunted for sport by his monster friends for ‘training’ will do that to you.”
Will once told him that he reverts to making people uncomfortable via depressing personal anecdotes when he is nervous. Startlingly perceptive for someone who, in the same breath, asked Nico if he could bring his siblings to the picnic Nico had planned in the strawberry fields for them, alone, at sunset.
“Just — open the binder, oh my gods.”
Huffing, Nico does.
It’s less intimidating than it looks. The heavily doodled title page reads OPERATION: WOOING WILL, which is embarrassing, but the rest of it is as cleanly professional. Several sub chapters including plans A-L, gathered information, outside input, sources, and hand-drawn diagrams are neatly organized and typed out. It’s even in dyslexia-friendly font. Truly a work of art. Too bad Nico is considering incinerating it.
“It’s not even gonna work,” he mumbles, pointedly avoiding the six pairs of eyes watching him. Well, five, Leo walked in the cabin and immediately got distracted by something else. He’s been poking at a pile of bronze for the past forty minutes at least. “He’s — unplannable.”
“Nothing’s unplannable.”
“He is. He doesn’t — think about things. In the same way.” Nico traces his fingers over a page titled Dropping Hints — How Begging Someone To Go Out With You Has Changed In Seventy Years. “You and me’ll see someone go out of their way to make life easier on somebody and know they’re — crushing, or whatever. But Will goes out of his way for everybody, all the time. It’s not odd for him.”
“Can’t you just tell him? Outright?” Hazel asks. “I mean, he told you, didn’t he?”
“That’s different.”
It isn’t, really. Nico could tell him. He could walk up to breakfast tomorrow and just blurt it out. Same words, even. I think you’re gorgeous.
He wants to. He wants Will to know, wants his bright eyes to go wide and his nose to go red and his voice to go quiet as he says, really? And Nico wants to feel the goosebumps that cover his arms when he rubs his thumb over the inside of his wrist and says, yes. Wants to watch him shiver as he says, you make me feel safe, you know. Watch his golden eyelashes flutter as he adds, wanted. Safe and wanted.
“It has to feel right.”
———
next
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jainydoe · 2 months ago
Text
Delirium
summary: She’s an angel, he’s a dog. Or, the confessions of a white tenured male.
tw: smut, mentions of death, violence
In his dreams are mausoleums. Rows sky high of those he’s trounced. Boys and girls from Schoolyard’s Past. A stranger from a conference who murmured about his adornments - Volkarin is just so … tragically nouveau riche. 
Johanna. With her hair and her laugh, laid dead with a frozen smile.
He keeps them all. Collected. Strolls along the cool, clean corridors and considers their carcasses. Malleable. Under his thumb. Under his spell, should he wish. Ripped from rest and compelled to answer any inquiry that may flit across his mind. He’s built a recent wing. Young men and women and. Taashes. Tucked neatly and filed amongst the masses. 
Then there’s her. 
For her, he’s built an atrium. A private temple where she’s kept in glass. Perpetually moonlit. Preserved. Perfected. In his dreams, he lifts the top of her enclosure open, rushes a breath across icy cheeks. Hours pass and he stares. Confesses secrets. Fears. Wants and desires. He thinks of the different ways she could die and how each would draw and quarter the soul until he’s scattered so distantly, he’d be impossible to make whole. Her, hung in a frozen suspension. Mouth agape and rigor mortis set in. His face would slot so carefully under her breasts, and he’d keep her there, midair, just to ache and sob into her ribs. Or her, burned and charred, body fruitlessly attempting to stay with him. Resisting the path to ash. He’d grip the air, magic rising the fire higher and higher, screaming into its lashings in a jealous rage. That it could consider itself worthy enough to touch her. To take her. Consume her. It takes a few weeks of knowing Rook before he’s begun desecrating the other crypts in his dreamscape. Every gentleman, lady and tramp who accost her with their gaze, with their booming want, earn a place in the Hall of the Damned. He keeps them in an area far from her tomb. The moonlight doesn’t grace their nameplates. When he imagines their spirits pleading in the dark, scared and confused, he sleeps like a babe. 
The waking hours are cruel and unusual. At home, every chapter of the day is one to celebrate. The mornings, ripe with expectation and promises. Brunches. Afternoons of discussion and lounging and napping and laughing and dinners overflown with debate and passion. He misses conversation. The type that leaves you buzzed and amped. He catches it sometimes with Bellara or Neve, but Rook leaves him itchy and ready in a way he hasn’t been since his boyhood. If she were a girl in a club and he were a boy with two drinks, he’d give her that smile that always works and kiss her hand to go the extra mile. He’d tell her he knows a spot in the Memorial Gardens and play the gentlemen who won’t offer to fuck her right away because modesty will have her gagging for it. But this is the real world and he’s pushing fifty. The closest he can get to romance is pouring her wine at the dinner table and laying on the pet names like he’s got plenty to spare. He’s started pampering himself. On days where she’d rather have the company of the boy or the other boy, he spends hours rubbing creams on himself, languidly dressing, steps out onto the balcony in his room and thinks about what she’d say if she saw him in just his dress socks, hair ungelled, five o’clock shadow shading his bone structure in that way he’s been told is haunting. He hopes the look he’d give her would haunt her. Etch itself into her memory and burrow into the marrow, to the point where she couldn’t ever feel pleasure again without thinking of his. Remembering the way he’d whisper her name before coming undone at the seams.
Tonight isn’t anything special - not in the grand scheme of things - but he lets the perfumed oil drop onto the paper-thin dip of his inner wrist, taking a deep, deep pull of the leather-booze-sweat-and-musky combo that he knows will drive her mad. He watches her in marketplaces, eyes running over the twinkling bottles of imported goods too precious to touch. Curved glass, inviting and seductive, begging to lay on flesh. She has caked blood on her chest and makes sure her steps are less heavy, presence less imposing. The salespeople offer, nonetheless, smiles wide and hands outstretched, and he feels his shoulders tighten as she wipes her hands along her armor, picks at her skin, begins the fruitless endeavor of trying to dig the last bits of dirt from under her nails. 
Sorry, I’m afraid we can’t afford anything today. 
A lie, though one she might not realize she’s telling. She’s a scrounger. A scrappy, makeshift trader. He wants to ask how she can keep affording all the sleekest, strongest armor and charming home adornments, things that make their situation less of a shit-fuck and more of a happy-accident, but he knows she’ll never tell. I’ve got to keep some secrets, she’d smile, impish and nymph-like, an invitation for him to peel off all her layers and share a secret he’s kept for this whole entire time. One that’ll keep them whispering to each other all night. In the darkest hours, he lets the mind wander to flushed lips, reddened limbs, reddened teeth from the caked blood he’s licked her clean of. She’d be disgusted and he’d be drunk, covering her in every shiny thing of his he has to offer. 
Marketplaces are a dangerous setting for him. Tempting in their quick releases. I saw this and thought of you, and I saw that and thought of you, I’m practically always thinking of you, do you think of me, how often, how deeply, how about you show me, right here, right now, before either of us have a chance to think twice. 
Wearing the oil is the little thing he allows himself, a pathetic tether to the fantasy he’s let play out. The Rook he’s created from stolen glances, lopsided conversations, dinner jokes and morning tea and midnight-solo-hand-fucks where he can ramble all the things he loves about her and it isn’t unwanted, it makes her cum - that Rook would smell the fact he’s wearing their scent, and make a point of having his sheets smell only of her for the next week. She’d be furious. She’d be deliriously in love. He should make his way to dinner, already. He’s expected. Who will ask questions no one wants to answer if Emmrich is spiraling all on his own?
“So, after all that, what did you do?”
They’re trading adventures amongst themselves, this medley of gritty, young things. Stories of near-death and past lives they’ve left behind - it helps distract from the. Well. Emmrich doesn’t share much because when you work in death long enough, you learn only the other people who work in death care to talk about it. He’d hoped Lucanis would be a shoulder to gab on. He couldn’t have been more wrong. He makes a note to visit the Necropolis soon and only realizes the table has gone silent when Rook is all cheeks ablaze and girlish hair-tucking. Her eyes dance around the table, avoiding Emmrich, entirely. He probably would, too. People who don’t contribute don’t get the benefits of worthwhile attention. A lesson he teaches his students all too well. There are too many other, more important things to fail at here, though. Oil and restriction are the two indulgences he’ll allow, he’s decided. And another glass of wine. Dalish? Huh. Good for them. 
“Well,” she continues, “there’s more than one way to convince a guard you’re better off unchained.”
Harding’s guffaw shakes the table and he almost lights a necrotic pool on her chair. Taash is slapping Rook’s back and Neve is laughing into her glass. By the time he’s back in his body, aware of the room, of his senses, Rook is the only person sitting at the table. He can picture it so clearly. Her, chained. Stretched. Arms above her and belly exposed, a deceptively innocent cross of one leg over the other. A pretty please and an I promise I’ll never commit another crime ever again, I swear. He thinks about gripping the hair at the top of her neck and asking how she can be so cavalier about life, constantly toeing the edge. When she regales the dinner table with stories of old friends, people she used to know, he’d imagine meeting them, bringing a bottle of shockingly Dalish wine, something local and real and so down-to-earth. He’d turn up the charm, make them all laugh and later that night spread her legs, his chest against her back as his fingers dipped down, tracing the edge of her underwear, asking if he’s performed to her satisfaction. It’s miserable. It’s juvenile. The fact that the thing that drives him over the edge is imagining himself as a fixture in her life. Her charming companion. Her smart and funny guy that buys her chocolates and treasures and knows that when he touches her right there, she has to shut her eyes because he’s just too much. He’s taut. He’s on edge. And it’s because he knows she’s lying. 
“Heading to bed, Emmrich?”
He smiles, rising from his chair and crossing over to the fireplace. He reaches into his breast pocket, pulling out the gold cigarette case he’s kept on deck, nowadays. Smoking used to be something he considered a young man’s game, reserved for the insanity one feels only in their twenties. He’s realised that feeling is a long-forgotten acquaintance whose not only decided they’re moving in, but that they’re marrying Emmrich and pregnant with twins - Starvation and Enslavement. It’s too late to do anything about it. The nursery’s all picked out. 
He crouches down on one knee, inching closer to the fire until the flames nearly kiss him and he can puff out a bit, igniting. “Forgive me, my dear. Forgot my lighter on my desk.” He can lie, too. For a moment like this. He knows what he looks like, sharp and wolfish and the fire paints him a dashing devil instead of a foaming beast. This little move is one of the few tricks he learned from the only other girl who invoked The Acquaintance. Come on, Volkarin, don’t be such a coward. Fucking popinjay. “That’s quite a tale you told, earlier. The one with the guard and chains.”
Her eyes are on him as he rises and leans his shoulder against the mantel, controlled and poised like a former ballerina.
“I’ve lived an exciting life, I know.” 
He grins. “Remind me, what did you say you did, exactly?”
She knows he knows. Years of training students keeps one’s finger on the pulse of casual deception. She crosses her arms and lifts her chin in the particular way she does when she wants to appear leader-like. “I blew him. And while he was seeing stars I locked him back in my cell and got away.”
He twitches. His nose burns. “Charming, as always, but I’m afraid that’s not quite what you said earlier. You said,” he uses the cigarette to point at her, “that you took him on your cot and locked him onto it. I remember for two reasons. The first,” he inhaled, “I found it puckish and creative. The second,” he exhaled, letting the smoke twirl away from them both as the tip of his thumb started tracing his mustache, “I know for a fact they don’t keep cots in those jail cells. Too comfortable. A distraction from contrition.” He looks at her shoes. Her hands. Rolls his gaze up to her eyes. “Did you really have to sleep your way to freedom, or was that just a show for our more easily entertained party members?” 
She’s enraged and embarrassed, but not too much to point out the obvious. “I don’t know, Emmrich. For a guy who remembers to bring a handkerchief to battle, I highly doubt you happened to forget your lighter on your desk.” In a flash of nerve and steel, she slaps his chest, feeling into the pocket of his vest and slipping out the matching, gold zippo. “Do you think I’m someone easily entertained?”
He looks at her nose, her chin, the bottom of her eyes, counting each lash as he counts his breaths. Lets himself smile. To relax her. To challenge her. To beg her. “I’m afraid if the likes of prison guards and roguish younglings can keep your attention,” he sighs, tossing the rest of the cigarette into the flames, watching it become engulfed, “then I couldn’t possibly attempt the conquest of your favor.” He knows what he’s just admitted. Feels it in the tips of his fingers as he wills them not to dance along his thighs or itch at his neck. Be calm. Be kind. Be careful. 
“What would that look like? If you,” she’s shivering, “If you did attempt?”
“Likely frightening.” That makes her laugh. He’d do anything to make her laugh again. But he’d really do anything to shut up that laughter, afterward. Spin it into something breathy and relentless. He wonders if this is what it feels like once your mind is lost. Thinks of cellars and bugs and the stench and rot of insanity. He’d look so perfectly appropriate in creamy cotton, pulled tight, all to keep him from the frenzied need to keep touching himself, no matter how much it hurts, because the ghost of her memory is most present when he’s wanton and weak. It’s not a bad outcome. He would gladly take the isolation of the fractured mind, shattered glass reflections all of Rook, 
Rook, 
Rook, 
Rook, 
over the pounding loneliness he’s known all too well. 
He watches as she looks at her hands, dirt chunking from under her nails, and she smiles something light and tempting. Maybe she wasn’t lying about that guard, after all. Who wouldn’t unshackle a maiden so sweet? He doesn’t care if she’s a siren. He’ll hold his breath until he chokes. “Truth be told, my dear,” here goes nothing, “to vie for your affections, I’d probably pester you with questions, act a fool and ignore any indication you might feel the same in the hopes you’d eventually leave me to perish in peace.” It breaks his heart to watch her frown. Don’t pity him. Don’t look at him. He’s not a wilting lily, he’s a dying ember who only needs the air from her lungs to lift him back to life. He was making peace with death, before her. It’s something he’ll never forgive her for. 
She lifts a hand to his jaw, delicate and rough, thumb running under his cheekbones. “Well, if I were to be in a similar position, perhaps I’d darken your doorstep every day, lose my nerve if I catch your eye too long and fashion myself an expert lover in the hopes it’d catch your attention.” 
She wants him and he’s a makeshift dragon tamer. Scrappy. Scrounging for any hint of interest. His desire is an archdemon he’s been holding back with shoelaces. “My dear, if your intentions are sincere, I fear what may become of me.” 
A girl possessed, the blacks of her eyes blow wider as the sharp of her teeth begin glinting in the firelight. He’s choking. “You should be afraid.”
Once they’ve crossed the threshold of his door, she pushes him against the slab, lips shiny and breath shallow. Her fingers are clumsy with youth and he’s bumbling out apologies for the mess, for the cold, for anything that might make her leave. He wants to bring her by the fire, warm her up, take his time with his meal. He hears a rip in his dress shirt and considers offering a proper spanking, but before he can assume the position she declares “Get on the table.” He cocks a shoulder and tilts his head. Smiles. Mind blank. 
“I beg your pardon?”
Her strength should come as no surprise and he regrets his yelp when his thighs scrape against the stone. He’s in briefs and briefly wonders if this is where she kills him. Lets him bleed out, a martyr, her sacrificial lamb. He’d keep his eyes on her as the lights go out, glad he could finally perform to her satisfaction. When she yanks the last bits of cover off of him, the cold much more biting and mocking, he nearly crosses his legs and asks if she’d like to join him for dinner sometime. 
“Lie down and spread your legs.” He laughs. The look on her face says to shut up. 
If she’s impressed by his figure she makes no show of it, stripping herself down and, like a lightning rod, gaining electric power with every item she removes. Once she’s as bitten by the cold as he is, puckered and goose-pimpled, she steps up onto the stone, between his legs, staring down at him. His mouth waters. “Tell me you want me.”
“I want you.”
“Tell me you need me.”
“Darling-”
“Say it.”
He feels himself getting harder. “I need you.” “I’m going to kill you tonight.”
“I know.”
“And when I’m finished, you’re going to thank me for it.”
“I will.” 
She wastes no time warming him up. Her mouth is boiling on the tip of him and he angles to scrape the back of her throat if just to put her on the back foot. In response, she grips his hips, nails digging into the bone as she lowers and lowers and lowers until his toes curl and throat tightens. She’s a harlot and a harpy and his heartbeat is pounding through his head. Hands are pathetic and past conquests no match for her pretty little mouth. Her drool is dripping everywhere and he’s parched. “Let me taste you.”
“No.”
She scratches at his inner thighs, the soft little points where he’s hairless and shallow and the chills running down his scalp make him feel almost feverish. Good. He hopes he infects her. He hopes the little bit of poison that’s soon to fill her cheeks will spark delirium, binding her to him, his kiss the only antidote. Her hair is so shiny and he’s seeing stars. “Kiss me.”
She pops off and grips him like it’s a weapon. “No.” The back of his head thunks in anguish. 
“Please, I’ll do anything, I’ll say anything, please, my darling, if I could just,” With a final lick he cums, shiny and sticky on his stomach, matting his hair. She leans over him, commanding and resolute. A demon. A creature of evil. A girl who will haunt him forever. 
“Take me to dinner.”
“I will.”
“Buy me something nice, too.”
“Of course.”
“I’ll fuck you when you prove you’re better off unchained.”
“Thank you.”
That night, he dreams he’s trapped in a glass casket and she sits in the pews, smiling at him. He’s never slept better.
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r3linx · 23 days ago
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⌜char.⌟ choi jiung ⌜synopsis⌟ you were getting ready to your fancy restaurant date nightwith jiung which you waited so much already, just like in every month. except you take awfully long to get ready which has him bored after a few minutes. asking you to help him occupy himself, ends up in him just ruining what you worked on. ⌜word count⌟ 3.1k ⌜warnings⌟ 18+ / nsfw, clit play, fem! reader, fingering, p in v, dirty talk, praising, pet names, degrading, hair pulling, messy writing (i guess), jiung is a little meanie if you squint really hard!!, reader is implied to have wavy/curly hair, sorry for repetitive writing and mistakes!
⌜a/n⌟ after i finished i wasn't sure if i'd want to post it or not but i decided to do it, i'll try to get more comfortable with writing smut in the future as i do enjoy it but without sharing i don't quite know where i have to improve. likes and reblogs are heavily appreciated, enjoy!! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)
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๋࣭ ⭑⚝ you were supposed to be on your way like..half an hour ago? 45 minutes.. yeah. yet, you didn’t seem to budge from your place. picking out the fanciest dress for your date already took up most of your time, you wanted to be absolutely ravishing for jiung tonight. it was your monthly ‘fancy-restaurant-date-night’ which you always loved by you. waiting for this with excitement such as nothing in the past few days.
successfully, you managed to choose the right attire. a skimpy, burgundy one still vivid, and the material like silk to the touch. it barely reached to half of your plump thighs, the straps thin on your shoulders, and showing a real clear image of your cleavage. it didn’t leave much to the imagination, really. your usually let down hair now made up in a pretty bun, curly strands slipping out here and there, tickling your neck and soft cheeks. everything was ready, now you sat on the chair barefoot, only pantyhose covering your smooth legs from the floor’s cold touch. the fluffy white carpet in the middle of the bedroom unfortunately didn’t reach there, so you had your feet rubbing against each other to keep themselves warm. you gazed into the mirror, examining your features, already planning your look. you wanted your makeup to be flawless too of course.
so much to the point, poor jiung went unnoticeable sitting on the edge of the bed, all ready and waiting for you to finally go. except he didn’t have any idea at the moment what time will it come and how much you’d sit there.
after being a few minutes late, he patted your bare shoulder carefully, his index finger running over the strap of your dress as he bent over to speak directly into your ear, his words shushed and soft.
“can you like.. speed things up a bit, love? you’re taking quite a long time..” to which you nodded simply, even though you knew he’d have to wait even more, but didn’t want to tell him that yet. with a small sigh escaping past his lips, he straightened back up, throwing his hands into his pocket, and sat down back on the same spot he stood up from minutes ago.
getting impatient, he called out to you again after like 10 more minutes to which you had the same response. he already knew what was going on, and yet again after another few minutes, you were still getting ready.
jiung sauntered over to you once again, placing both of his hands on your shoulder to give them a gentle squeeze, his slim finger brushing over your warm skin, starting to massage your tender muscles languidly.
“i know i know- i’m hurrying..” you murmured, pressing out a long exhale you didn’t know you held, focusing at the eyes shadow palette in your hands, gently shaking down the excess colored powder back onto the tray.
“no need to, pretty. i changed my mind, i want you to look your best. take your time.. i was just getting a bit bored, y’know.. ” he reassured with a smile as he looked at your reflection in the mirror in front of you. after years of dealing with you, he figured it’d be better to not hurry you when it already didn’t matter, so he just used it to his advantage.
he leaned down behind you, his warm breath caressing the side of your face and ear, a small smirk evident in the corner of his mouth. his hands now stopped kneading your shoulders, sliding a bit forward to trace your bare collarbone with his calloused fingers. “i like it when you’re getting all dolled up for me..” his words sent a chill down your spine as they slowly rolled off his tongue, your breath hitching as you now locked eye with him through your mirror. turning your head around you arched one eyebrow at him in confusion which had his smirk widening slightly across his face, his dark eyes having a sinister glint you knew already very well. “makes me wanna.. you know..” he continued as his hand moved down on your body, now sliding it under your arm to reach you better, giving your sides a gentle caress up and down, sneaking in a few playful squeezes at your soft hips before coming to a rest on your chest and cupping your breasts through the thin fabric. he gave the squishy mounds a gentle squeeze, his thumbs writing down circles around the outlines of your nipples poking through.
his sudden action had you in goosebumps all over, making you freeze in your place. turning your head to the side, ready to question his act, one of his hand moves to take a firm hold of your chin, roughly turning it back to look at yourself in the mirror before he pressed a soft peck to your cheek while keeping eye contact.
“you don’t have to do anything, alright? you’re making me wait.. the least you can do is keeping me occupied while i’m waiting..” he was right, you did take a lot of time by now but if he would start to mess around with you while you still do your makeup, he might ruin it, not to talk about the fact that it would take even longer for you to be done.
“but if you’ll ruin it-”
“i would never, you know that..” he cooed into your ear, giving your lobe a playful nip with his teeth. now trailing warm wet pecks along your neck, arriving at the nape and simply just sinking his teeth into your glowing, smooth skin. it was sudden act, making you flinch, gripping the brush for a second between your fingers then relaxing your hold again. his nose pressed against your skin, sharply inhaling your scent as his tongue darted out with a wet, soothing lick across the red biting mark he formed just now.
not holding himself back at this point, his hands slid further down on your body, coming to a stop at the hem of your dress, he moved it up just a couple inches and he could already reach well between your legs, he was very grateful for your choice of clothes at the moment and giving him easy access.
your breathing labored, his palms glided along the inside of your thighs, his left hand pressing flat against your flesh, guiding them apart while his other hand snaked further up, till he reached your pantied center. he felt the warmth already radiating off you, catching you occasionally taking quick glimpses downwards, as if he’d stop if you’d call out for him.
the pads of his thumbs traced lazy circles over your clit, not pressing down directly on your sensitive nub yet. thanks to the textile, which was already covered in your essence, sticking to you, it gave him a clear outline of your folds. his middle finger slipped under the band or your panties pulling away and letting it snap back against your skin in place, eliciting a hiss from your lips as he drank up all your cute expressions.
suddenly his hands grabbed into your pantyhose, ripping it simply apart, his nails digging into the material. your lips parted in a gasp suddenly as you eyed the now useless piece of clothing and the hole he created.
“raise your hips a bit..” he commanded while giving the top of your thighs an encouraging pat, but still with a gentle undertone in his voice comparing to his earlier act.
“are you trying to-”
“i said lift your hips, nothing much, should be easy to follow.” cutting into your sentence he bit back. and so you did, he hooked his fingers into the fabric, sliding it down your legs till it hit the floor with a soft thump around your ankles. you felt the hot feeling pool in your lower stomach as you realized you’re not meant to go out to a dinner anymore but he didn’t mutter a word. he saw the realization dawn in your eyes but choose to remain silent, instead he gave a soft chuckle as his hands went back to usher your legs apart while you sat on the chair.
“since you worked so hard, finish your makeup.. wouldn’t want to have you work so hard for nothing..” he nodded towards your stuff scattered across the smooth wooden table where your were reaching to pack away neatly. sliding two of his fingers to part your plump lower lips with one of his hand while his other toyed with your clit. the pad of his index and middle finger just merely ghosting over your already swollen folds. his head on your shoulder turned to scatter small bites and nips across your skin, his gaze turned down between your legs, watching intently as his hands teased you.
your muscles tensed when you felt him delve in with a harsh press of his fingers, instinctively trying to close down your legs around his hand, but to no success. "relax.. relax.." he hushed quietly
“even if we missed the dinner part.. can’t have my slutty girl hanging, hm?” he asked with a grin on his face, nudging his nose against your temple and placing a soft wet kiss on the spot. his words were honeyed and his pecks are gentle compared to his hands working on you. he pinched your little nub between his fingers while giving it a small tug, twisting it gently when a small mewl escaped your lips.
“in- push in-”
“you want my fingers inside your tight, needy cunt, baby? let me hear the magic word then..” he played with you more even if he knew you’d clearly give in, being already on the verge of going crazy. after all this time he knew everything about you, what made you flinch when touched in the right place, how a gentle encouraging with his words was already enough to have you putty in his hands and do as he says.
“please..”
“that’s right, so you want them in, hm?..” jiung nodded against your shoulder with a soft hum, trailing his fingers down to circle your entrance, giving it a little pressure by pressing down, coaxing more of your fluids out onto his hand. he smeared it across your puffy clit and the juncture of your thighs, his thumb dipping in your cunt for a brief moment, then quickly slipping free from it with a soft pop.
you were ready to beg further, inhaling but your breath got caught in your throat soon enough when his middle and ring fingers easily slipped inside you from your slickness all the way to his knuckles. it had you clamping down hard around his invading digits, your chest heaving for breath as his hand stilled, eyeing at your reactions with a small smirk on his lips.
“you stopped.” he pointed out. you didn’t understand what he meant until you finally looked up to see the eyeliner in your hands, away from you and just holding it.
“but-”
“if you stop, i do it too. now continue pretty girl, except if you want to stay with my fingers in your cunt all night.” he nudged the side of your head with his, your digits gripping at the pen. to tell the truth, imagining his words, it wouldn’t have been that bad but still, right now you needed more than just filling you up without any more stimulation.
the eyeliner in your hands were liquid. which meant easy smearing on its own.. but while jiung fingered you? the thought made you smile to yourself, which quickly turned into a surprised gasp as he crooked his fingers inside you out of the blue, fingertips brushing against your walls, grinding it before coming abruptly to a stop again. you turned your gaze towards him, eyebrows knotted together in frustration but you couldn’t help yourself anymore. not when your wetness now trailed along his whole palm and wrists, dripping it down your thighs and onto the chair’s soft material and soaking it.
you brought the pen to your eyes with trembling hands, feeling jiungs sharp look on your every action, when it would touch your eyelids. he pulled his fingers out, only to shove it back in fast, curling them against your sweet spot and pistoning them in and out frantically. his other hand found its way to tangle in your carefully made hair, gripping into your locks to yank your head back harshly now having the strands all messy in his hold. a loud yelp got knocked out of your lungs, resulting in the line being crooked but at this point it didn’t really matter anymore. you arched your back as the warmness started spreading in your core with him continuously hitting the spongy spot inside you, his fingers furiously pumping, leaving you trembling and quickly approaching your climax.
when you were about to tumble over the edge he stopped, leaving you a panting mess. grabbing onto your jaw and turning towards him, taking in the beautifully curved line in the corner of your eyes, he sudden crushed his lips against yours fiercely, teeth clattering against each other. not having the chance to recover, his finger lazily moved inside you while he attacked your mouth and his tongue darting out to tangle with yours, by now it felt like your whole body was on fire, sweat dampened your skin and forehead, your body trembling with no stop. leaning back with a string of thin saliva connecting your swollen pink lips to his before it snapped, he watched your eyes glistening with tears from the intense pleasure, threatening to spill, spit tracking down your chin and cheeks flushed. after being late from the restaurant, seeing your makeup ruined by him and you do nothing against it was the greatest apology.
and this is all it took to send a jolt across his body, straight to his crotch, making his pants tighten further. his fingers left your warm, slick pussy, reaching over to brush your stuff aside on the table, cosmetics landing on the ground with a clink. jiung’s hands found their way under your thighs, hoisting you up from the chair over to the table making you squeal in the sudden move, he eased himself between your legs, pulling you to sit on the edge, closer to him.
“you look fucking pathetic, baby.” he let out a mocking chuckle with urgency in his words, now fidgeting with the zipper of his slacks, pushing down the clothing around his ankles. “pathetic but so fucking sexy.. mascara running down your face and your hair all messy.. i know you just love getting fucked silly, hm?” he pointed out your current appearance and god it made you feel even hotter in the pit of your stomach. your cheeks tainted with a deep shade of pink, your eyes trailing down his body and catching a glimpse of the wet patch already formed in front of his boxers before he quickly got rid of them too.
the black-inked butterfly tattoo adorning his lower stomach and abs, peeked under the hem of his plain white shirt which ended just above his waist. he hiked your already short dress even higher on you, then with a firm grip on his shaft, he guided himself close to your sopping hole, pearly white droplets of his precum mixing with your wetness as he dragged himself along your slit, watching in awe. he pushed in his red and throbbing tip, letting out a quiet groan as you stretched around him, taking in his shape. you shuddered at the feeling with a soft whine escaping your chest, you wrapped your legs around his waist, silently encouraging him to push in further.
“so impatient now, you decided to make me wait.. so why should i give you what you want this easily?” he bit back a laugh at your disheveled, pitiful look before bottoming out in you eventually, his hand flying to grip the sides of your legs, pushing them further apart for leverage and space.
“fuck you’re squeezing me too tight.” he growled through gritted teeth, his eyes fluttering close only for a few seconds, his nails digging into your plush skin as he started to hammer into you, your slick making it easier for him to move.
your eyes burned as the soft tears mixed with the ink from your eyelids, coloring them black as they rolled down your cheeks. the table shaking from the force he rutted into you, his pace never faltering and steady. “you.. you really look like a slut.” he snarled, gripping your chin between his fingers as he forced your eyes to lock with his. "getting fucked-.. with your clothes still on, like a cheap whore.." he taunted further, his free hand moved to frantically rub on your clit, the room echoing from your heavy moans, his low grunts and wet skin slapping on skin, reassuring him further, as he was plowing into you, your hands took a hold of his wrist but unfortunately nothing but incoherent blubbering could be heard. not having the chance to even warn him before your orgasm washed over you and having your body trembling. “look at you, so beautifully fucked out..” he muttered as he guided you through your high.
without a word he pulled free from the grip of your tight walls, your hips bucking towards him, aching about the loss of contact as he left you empty and desperate for having him back. he gave his cock a few hurried pumps with his hand, his seed finally spilled onto your already crumpled up dress in thick, white spurts as he came with a loud groan, his eyes squeezing shut. a few moments later after pulling himself together with much less success, a small grin made it’s way to his face as he admired his handiwork.
to be honest when he saw just how much time you wasted on preparing yourself, he made it to his own little mission to fuck you up. loving the fact that you let him, even begged him for it, making his work so much easier. now looking at your once pretty bun, now messed up strands sticking everywhere, fancy dress now rumpled and drenched in his white sticky seed, your makeup all smudged, he was honestly proud of himself for turning you into this such a pretty sight.
“let this serve you as a lesson, baby..” kissing you gently on your cheeks, his usual tenderness creeping back while caressing you all over soothingly.
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@r3linx II do not steal, modify or translate or repost any of my works. likes and reblogs are appreciated﹗﹗
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mikobeautifulheart · 8 months ago
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woohoo omg speaking of jjk imagine you touching THEIR weak spot... pls include yuuji, yuuta, toge along w other chars (if you're doing?) thank youu <3
Omg yessssss. *Also not proof read.
Okay I'm thinking I'll do Yuji, Megumi and a part 2 for , Yuta and Toge and make other parts for Gojo, Geto, Nanami maybe Sukuna you get it.
Their weak spot
INCLUDING: YUJI and MEGUMI
(Slightly suggestive if you know what I mean)
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Yuji
The room was silent- to silent. The static of the TV buzzed in your ears along with the sound of Yuji's snoring.
He had come back exhausted from a mission and fell asleep next to you while watching a movie. You look over to see him totally knocked out- and that's when curiosity got the best of you.
He was wearing a thin white shirt, one that was most likely to be worn under his uniform so it was thinner then what you expected, but also a great opportunity.
Every time you guys had cuddled in the past he would seem to subtlety pull away when ever your hand got to close to the middle of his back. At first you didn't notice it but eventually the need to see what he was hiding got the best of you.
He turned onto his stomach; fool left his guard down, you thought.
With out a second thought you ran your finger up Yuji's spine sending visible shivers across his body. He shot up and stared at you in disbelief.
"Did you just-"
you nodded slowly.
"C'me here" He said, one hand holding your thigh down, the other reaching up and tickling you.
"Noooo Yuji please I didn't mean itttt" You squealed as he came to a sudden stop.
"Fuck- you turned me on." He said letting out frustrated sigh.
"I can fix that~"
Megumi
"Hey Megumi, I think I lost my charger around here somewhere, have you seen it?" You asked holding your dead phone.
"Hold on I think I might have accidently kicked it under the couch"
This was it, for to long have you let Megumi turn his back on you with out expecting an attack.
He got down on the floor, arm under the lounge feeling around for the charger, while you got up slowly on it truing to not burst out in laughter.
here goes nothing.
You reach your hand out and poke the back of his neck watching as he suddenly jumps up, hitting his head on the coffee table next to him.
"Ouch. Oh you are dead " He said standing up.
"Megumi. Now lets be rational here-" You said walking backwards not breaking eye contact.
"Oh yeah I'll be very rational, make sure the punishment fits the crime."
"Now think about this, about what your going to do" You said
"Thought long and hard about it"
Your back hit the wall making you jump slightly. You turned your head to see if there was anything you could use as a distraction to get away.
You turn your head back to feel a hot breath on your neck.
Not even a second you felt hands go around the back of your upper thighs and your feet leave the ground.
"Maybe next time you should think your actions through."
THANK YOU FOR READING ♡
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AUTHOURS NOTE: My inboxes are dangerously low now guysss. Reblogs are welcomedddd. Have a good whatever time.
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trashogram · 9 months ago
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More HCY Fluff:
*** ‘—Full of shine and full of sparkle Close your eyes and see it glisten, Cha-arlie Listen, Charlieeee!’
Lucifer leaned in with a smile that split into a full grin as Charlie wiggled and giggled in his hands. Water was splashed here and there in the little sink-turned-baby-bath, and the Devil was grateful he’d positioned their little cathedral radio far away from its range.
The baby wriggled some more when Lucifer’s eyes flickered away for even the briefest second. Her love for attention wasn’t novel considering her lineage, but it was ever so endearing. Lucifer very, very gently washed the suds from her rich mop of hair.
‘Put on your Sunday clothes, there's lots of world out there… hm hm hmm…’ The King bobbed his head from side-to-side with the radio. ‘Hmm hm hm— in white, In a perfumed night Where the lights are bright as the stars!’
When all the suds were scrubbed away, Lucifer lifted the baby up and onto the nest of folded towels he’d made. He laughed as Charlotte instantly kicked around with her roly-poly legs. Who knew babies had so much energy!
She whined and Lucifer answered it with a coo. “Aww, it’s ok Char Char. Almost done!”
The new father focused on wiping away the bath water from Charlie’s apple cheeks and out of her fleecy hair. Instantly, the tiny antichrist smiled, chasing after his hand in the fibers of the cloth. Her tail instinctively wound around his wrist as much as it could, keeping him close.
After snuggly wrapping her up, Lucifer relented and took his daughter back into his arms, cradling her close.
‘—And we'll close the town in a whirl—’ He spun on his feet as carefully as he could before planting a big, dramatic kiss on the giggly girl’s cheek, ‘But we won't come home until we've kissed a girl!’
With Charlie laughing, and the sink draining, Lucifer soft-shoed out of the grand bathroom with the radio floating behind him.
Just in time, you were walking through the door, Razzle and Dazzle trotting at your heels. That technological doohickey that you’d carried around to run things was clutched in your hands, and many more were balanced on Dazzle’s back behind you as if he were a pack mule. Razzle was pushing a basket of scrolls forward opposite his brother.
Lucifer would have frowned had you not started humming along to the radio, most likely unconsciously. And, as soon as you looked up and saw his waiting grin as well as the bundle in his arms, you put it down on the nearest surface.
Another thing to chalk up to the ‘like father, like daughter’ saying: Charlie sensed your presence and squealed madly, happily, as soon as she spotted you. Lucifer had to shift the little girl in his arms to prevent her from flying out of his grip in her pursuit of you.
They met you in the middle of the bedroom, and Lucifer took a moment to soak up your appraising look. It was silly, but he felt proud presenting himself and your freshly cleaned child, all cozy and ready for bed.
“Oop!” Lucifer snapped his fingers together (barely, still preoccupied with holding the bouncing infant) and Charlie was fully clothed in a butter-yellow onesie. “Ready for bed now, ma’am!”
You snickered. “At ease, soldier.”
Lucifer smiled so widely it practically hurt, but his heart was light and his life was full. You gathered him up in your arms, with Charlie slowly settling down between the two of you, and the King couldn’t help the lovesick sigh that escaped him.
‘And this I'm positive of That we won't come home That we won't come home No we won't come home until we fall in love!’
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burningcheese-merchant · 3 months ago
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"Hair Care" - BurningCheese Short #6
I promised a "Burning Spice is snuck into the Golden Cheese Kingdom" story, and I've come to deliver. I also promised wholesomeness, which... I mean, I hope it comes across that way. These two have their own brand of "wholesome", I think lol.
Special shout-out to @cheesecakemermaid1048 for coming up with the original concept of "bonding w/ Burning Spice via brushing his hair" (although I did go an extra mile in my interpretation here lol). Thanks so much again for letting me use this as a writing prompt! I hope you enjoy it especially!
"Grrrr..."
"I already told you that giving me attitude won't change anything, Burning Spice."
"Would razing your palace to the ground change anything?"
"Leave behind even a single scratch on a single one of my walls or columns, and I shall impale you with a thousand earthen spears on the spot."
"Do you promise?"
"It's inevitable."
"Even better, then."
Golden Cheese quickly shot him a pointed glare over her shoulder before turning her attention back to the hallway ahead of them. Completely empty, thank goodness; no one traversed this particular one at this hour of the day, she remembered. Or... they didn't tend to. Usually.
... It was a gamble she knows Mozzarella would've taken, had she been in her place. Calling for the palace to be temporarily emptied and closed would have been too easy, too simple. Daring to challenge one's own understanding of time and people's habits was a far greater risk, with a far more satisfying reward. Guaranteed victories are boring, after all.
Mozzarella wasn't there with them then, but Golden Cheese nevertheless found herself smiling and thanking her old friend for inspiring her in such a way.
Burning Spice, meanwhile, was currently the most miserable man on the face of the earth, and has been since Golden Cheese had the nerve to dictate where she would be taking him today (and instead of having their scheduled duel, as well, to add insult to injury). His petulant stomps left charred imprints all throughout the desert sands where they reunited - she demanded he control himself when they made it to her kingdom, so as not to draw attention and to not ruin her precious walkways - and echoed through the glittering halls and corridors as she dragged him along. How they haven't been spotted by any of her countless little subjects until now, he did not know, nor did he really care. He was frustrated enough that he almost preferred them being caught then whatever fresh hell she had in store for him in the rapidly approaching future.
So irritated was he, that he couldn't even bring himself to enjoy the fact that they were holding hands.
She eventually led him through some fancy doorway - past sky blue curtains and an archway and columns decorated with intricate carvings - and waiting for them beyond it was their promised destination: a fairly large and airy room with a great pool at the very center, with gold and white lilies dotting its calm surface and reeds sprouting in its corners. Surrounding it was an array of ornate stone and wooden tables, towel racks, smaller pools and individual baths, as well as beautifully carved shelves that seemed to be stocked with soaps, oils and incense. The afternoon sun shone through a massive hole in the ceiling, bathing much of the room in a warm, bright, golden light.
Burning Spice observed it all with a look of cranky disinterest. "A bath, huh?" His mouth twisted into a wry smile. "If you wanted to see me naked, little bird, all you had to do was ask."
"A spa, Burning Spice," Golden Cheese retorted. "This is the primary room for rest and relaxation here within my palace. My attendants are free to come in and put their minds and bodies at ease while they're on break, or after they've been relieved of their duties. They're also welcome to bring their friends and families, so long as they ask for permission first."
"'Ask for permission?' Pfft." A low chuckle rumbled deep within his throat. "How generous. How... soft. Of you AND them."
"It's civilized. That is what civilized behavior is like, Burning Spice. As we both know you've long since forgotten."
"'Civilized behavior'... heh. You think I care about such a pretentious, meaningless thing?"
"No, and it's evident by your appearance. Moreso than even the sun shining in the sky on a desert morning, in fact."
"Oh, don't pretend you don't enjoy seeing me- huh?!"
She didn't wait for him to finish his flirty diatribe and began dragging him over to one of those little baths, tightening her grip on his hand enough to earn an honest wince. When they reached it, she used her spear to nudge a nearby chair over, then whipped around, grabbed Burning Spice by the shoulders, and forced him down onto it before he could protest.
"Wait here a moment," she told him. "Let me go grab what we need."
"Who's 'we'?" he called after her indignantly as she walked off. No use; she moved along as if he'd never spoken in the first place.
To tide himself over and pass the time - that one minute that bore the weight and ache of an eternity - he made a game of letting his eyes go back and forth between scanning the room more closely and drinking in the sight of Golden Cheese's alluring backside as she gathered supplies from a shelf.
She seemed to sense his enamored gaze right away, though, and bristled accordingly. "Keep your eyes to yourself," she snapped at him without turning around.
"Or else what?" he fired back with a smirk, still raking his eyes up and down her body without remorse. "I'm already being punished, am I not? Now you can punish me with all this nonsense for a REAL reason."
"Clearly you aren't," she said as she made her way back to him, a towel hanging from one arm, and a bottle and hairbrush in each hand, "if you still feel bold enough to behave like this."
"But of course I do. How can I not, with such a pretty bird perched in front of me? Only the blind would ignore such beauty, do you not agree?"
She set the supplies down with a huff, her cheeks flushing pink at his words. "Well then, let's see if you still feel that way after we're done."
His flirtatious smile evaporated as she gathered all of his long, wild hair into her arms and narrowed her eyes at it. "Honestly, Burning Spice," she said, "how do you tolerate this... this mess?"
"By ignoring it," he said flatly. "So long as it isn't cut off, then I don't give a damn what happens to it otherwise."
"Well, I'm not tolerating this barbarism any longer. If you won't do anything about it, then I will."
"I could just get up and sit in the bath myself, you know." That suggestive look made a brief return. "And you could join me, if you wanted."
"I'd sooner join you in Hell," she said.
With that, she tossed his hair into the bath, watching as it floated and waved along the water's clear surface. She reached for the bottle, stowed away underneath the chair for safekeeping; the smell of eucalyptus wafted through the air as she popped it open and poured its contents into the water, turning it a pale green.
"What the hell is that?" Burning Spice asked, making a face as he sniffed at the air.
"Soap, you filthy animal," she snapped. "Shampoo and conditioner mixed into one solution. This particular bottle is from a very high-quality brand that is well-liked in my kingdom. I suggest you act grateful."
"Me, grateful? For what? For you kidnapping me and forcing me to endure a... a spa day that I wouldn't ask for in a million years?"
"Precisely," she said, staring down at him with a confident smile.
...So enchanting did Burning Spice find that smile of hers, that he softened just enough to let her work without further resistance.
She worked slowly but deliberately, the calm focus written on her features and the deft movement of her hands betraying her years of experience. His hair was thick and unkempt, practically an untamed jungle; so desperate for love and care that it almost seemed to seek her out on purpose, jet black tendrils creeping and coiling around her fingers and wrists as soon as her hands touched the water.
"When was the last time you even brushed your hair? These knots are atrocious."
He didn't answer her right away, instead scowling and shifting uncomfortably in his seat as she tugged on the strands closer to his scalp. "What does that matter?" he eventually scoffed. "Fussing over one's appearance is a complete waste of time, anyway."
"One's appearance is a cornerstone of one's overall well-being," she countered. "In my kingdom, cleanliness is seen as a form of godliness. It's all a matter of pride, of confidence, of proper self-esteem. Always look your best, always put your best foot forward, and others will be encouraged to see the best in you."
"You think taking a bath makes you a god? HA! Such foolish arrogance- OW!"
"Oh, stop it," Golden Cheese chided him as she pulled on and unraveled a particularly terrible knot. "To think you'd be such a big baby about something so trivial! If I'd known this while we were still enemies, I would've gone ahead and acted like a baby myself, and spent all of our battles pulling on your hair to make you cry."
He grunted in frustration, staring daggers at her as she freed the last remaining strands from that dreaded knot. She ignored him and continued on undeterred.
When she finished the first lather and rinse, working her way up to the top of his head and back down again, she shook her head. "Honestly, Burning Spice," she sighed. "I'm disappointed in you. Even a brute ought to take proper care of himself. How have you allowed this to stand for so long?"
"Because it doesn't matter to me at all," he muttered. "I'll give you that answer as many times as I need to, to get it through your pretty head."
"Of course it matters," she said, her eyes narrowing in annoyance again. "How can you even say that? Do you not hold yourself in any high esteem at all?"
"No."
She stopped, the wad of hair she'd been tending to now sitting limp in her hands. She looked at him in genuine shock - and he returned her look with one of... not quite anger, no. He was not angry. What she saw on his face, in his eyes, was... resignation, tinged with bitterness.
An awkward silence hung over them both before Golden Cheese cleared her throat. "Well, then," she said slowly, "If you can't be bothered to take care of yourself... then I shall do it for you. Alright?"
He softened again, a glimmer of pleasant surprise shining in his eyes. The silence quickly returned, right after Golden Cheese herself returned to her work... but it felt lighter this time.
Soon enough, she was quietly tapping on his shoulder. He understood what she wanted, no explanation necessary, and he slowly lifted his head up, sitting up straight once again. She gathered his hair in her arms and wrung it all out the best she could, then lifted it out of the bath, letting it fall and cling to his back. The soft pitter-patter of water droplets dripping from rogue strands of hair onto the floor filled their ears.
The silence otherwise persisted as Golden Cheese dried Burning Spice's hair with the towel she'd tucked away beneath the chair. He sat still, arms crossed, and neither said nor did anything to disturb her efforts, much to her continued surprise.
Soon enough, she traded the towel in for the hairbrush and quickly set about combing through those still-unruly locks. "It really is a shame, you know," she murmured. "You have gorgeous hair. You shouldn't treat it so poorly."
"Hmph..." He shrugged. "Whatever."
"I mean it, Burning Spice." She combed through another knot - more carefully than she'd done to the others in the bath, out of a newfound sense of concern for his comfort. "Even animals groom themselves better than you. I know you care enough to at least bathe, but there's more to self-care than just that."
"I bathe. I eat. I sleep. Those things are enough to keep me alive, are they not? I don't need anything else."
"They're enough to survive, yes..." She paused. "But... not to live, I don't think."
"You think bathing makes you a god," he muttered. "Of course you would say that."
She set the hairbrush aside for a moment and placed her hands on his shoulders, giving them a light squeeze. Instantly - perhaps instinctively - he leaned back, further into her grasp. Silently reveling in her touch.
"Burning Spice..." She sighed softly. "I have long since vanquished you. You're no longer a threat to this world." She hesitated, searching her mind for the right words to say next. "You... you can't hurt anyone anymore. Not on my watch. Perhaps... it's time you included yourself there, as well."
At that, he tensed, but still said nothing. She pulled her hands away (did she sense... disappointment from him when she did so?) and grabbed the hairbrush again, once more returning to grooming the man in front of her. She tried her best to be efficient, but still gentle; combing through each and every lock, more eager than ever to leave them looking better than they did before.
She took longer than she probably should have. (Perhaps she'd started allowing herself to enjoy how... soft and luxurious his hair was.) But even so, when she was finally done, she set the hairbrush down again and circled around to the front.
"There," she said. "What do you think?"
Burning Spice ran a quick hand through his hair and gave her a nod. "More pleasant than before."
"Wonderful." She beamed at him. "I'm glad."
His breath caught in his throat at the sight of that bright, warm smile. It stole all of the light in the room. It outshined the sun itself.
If this was what it took get her to look at him like that, then Burning Spice would gladly let her fuss over his appearance every single day for the rest of his life.
"Now, then..." She clapped her hands together, her eyes now glinting with mischief. "How about we take care of your wardrobe next?"
"My what?!"
--------------------------------------
What GC said about cleanliness was something Ancient Egyptians actually believed. They were very, very fussy about hygiene and legitimately thought that cleanliness was godliness. They didn't have spas or bathhouses or the like, though (not before the Greeks and Romans stopped by), they usually just bathed in the Nile. They used something called natron (it's like a salt mixture you get from dry lake beds, tastes like baking soda) as soap and shampoo. There's your history lesson for the day. You're welcome. I have more if you're interested.
And... well. I'm sure it's common knowledge that depressed people can start really letting themselves go if it gets bad enough. I don't really get the impression that Burning Spice is happy, even with that Joker smile he's got on and how much he enjoys trashing everything... I think all the Beasts are plagued with a certain melancholy, really. They're handling it entirely incorrectly, but even so. (And I think the Ancients can and should be the ones to help them overcome that. They're just the right ones for the job, in my opinion. But that's probably just me trying to bait you all into asking me about my Reformed Beasts AU again lol)
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seabeck · 10 months ago
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Neat stuff from today!
Left to right: giant white fawn lily from my spot that blooms early, a baby western fence lizard that ran up my leg because it mistook my black pants for a charred log (also I suspect it’s black because environmental pressure? It was living in a previously burned area), verpas!, some neat wholly birds nests, morel (not sure subspecies), stalked bonfire cup (new shroom!), my fave candy lichen stump, bonfire moss, some sort of bonfire loving cup shroom
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keis-slut · 11 months ago
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beautiful|j.the killer
CW: DEGRADING, CHOKING/BREATH PLAY, SPITTING, SLIGHT PRAISE
his large, bleach-white hands gripped your thighs, hugging them tightly, just as your walls did around his cock, feeling every thrust,
every throb.
"-fuck, oh, fuck"
growling, gasping moans escaping his scarred lips, surprising you that his cut smile could grow any wider than so.
your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him into you more, as if he couldn't get any closer, with his larger charred and blood-stained hoodie fanning off your body, breasts swaying and teasing him as they peaked out from under, revealing you bare.
he couldn't help himself but bring a calloused hand to one, squeezing it maybe a bit too harshly, creating a whimpering yelp from your lips, gasp caught in your throat.
your throat, in which he brought a hand to wrap around, squeezing just enough to stop your breathing, pussy clenching just as his hand did around your neck.
he thrusts sloppy, with his body jolting and twitching with the least bit control, just letting his body do all the work as he plowed into you, overstimulating your poor little cunt.
“-s’ too much, pl-pleas-ah!-“
he felt you only continue to tighten around him, your head faltering backwards on his pillow as he pushed deeper, cock curving into your g-spot, giving you a kiss as he spat at you.
“-t’s that, pretty? can’t hear you, bitch, t’ busy…”
your eyes opened to scanned back to his voided ones, his face now closer to yours as his breath pet your heated cheeks, his long jet hair tickling your face and jaw.
"’m gonna fuck you right to sleep, slut”
he groaned, loud, as you brought your hands to his white face, your mouth hung open, your eyes rolled back, and you couldn’t help the way your body squirmed as he fucked you.
"you're so beautiful"
you whine, now lightheaded and breathless as his hand that clenched your throat didn’t falter, hips bucking as you found a high, and rode it.
that had sent him over the edge, maybe farther, he was wild. you calling him beautiful. it's the only thing he'd ever want to hear from anyone.
he fucked absolutely feral, but if you ever call him beautiful, in any circumstance, he’ll be putty in your hands.
his grunts and movements now animalistic, his eyes growing surprisingly wider than you've ever thought for someone lacking eyelids.
He groaned, towering above you as his face was inches from yours, lips teasing ragged lips.
"oh, yeah?"
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nsharks · 2 years ago
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bleeding blue | apocalypse au
part three —other parts
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pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3.3k tags: death. blood. zombies of course. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn. enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: let's build some relationships :)
From behind a tree, your eyes narrow with concentration as you draw the string of your bow. The feel of it in your hands offers satisfaction; you used to love new makeup, blushes and creams, or sweet custards from the market. Now, you love a good weapon.
Is there anything Ghost doesn’t know how to do? And you thought Paul had skillful hands.
You’re not sure exactly where Ghost and Blue have gone, because after leading you out the gate of their camp, Blue showing you the exact maze of steps needed to avoid their booby traps, they went their own way. Again, they disappeared among the white trees. You were left to pick a direction and stick with it. So you ended up here, the opposite way of the pond, with your eyes finally catching sight of a small deer. A fawn.
It’s young but perfect.
The blood that courses through its limbs switches on the predator part of your brain. It will be enough to keep you fed for at least a week, perhaps more, and promote the healing of the wound that aches with each shift of your waist. You inhale, exhale. The arrow is ready to release.
A single gunshot rings out.
Straight through the fawn’s eye.
It doesn’t even have time to cry out as it falls over, a small thud filling the quiet air. Your heart skips a beat and your eyes flicker in the direction of the gunshot, but you already know who has stolen this kill from you. In the distance, you see his bulky form, the lowering of his rifle, and then you see the girl bounce down from a tree and whirl towards the dead animal.
Are you kidding me?
You want to snarl and sneer. Instead, you flare your nostrils while lowering your bow. Meters away, Blue kneels down by the deer and you see her gently mouth words to its corpse. Perhaps, a childish parting that helps her feel better about its death. Ghost arrives and bends down to Blue’s level, and you can’t see his mouth with the mask on, but you know he is speaking to her by how he gestures his gloved hand around.
You’ll have to find another animal.
Squirrels aren’t your favorite meal. They’re not much compared to the taste of venison. But if you char squirrel meat just enough, it can get a nutty flavor that, with your eyes closed, you can pretend is a juicy slab of chicken home-roasted by your mother.
There is no room to be picky.
There is no room for wants anymore, only needs, and from behind the tree, you move your gaze to spot a grey squirrel that will be enough for the day’s needs. You take aim again. You’d put your washed hair in two French braids to keep the strands from interfering, but without ties, they are starting to come undone at the ends. There was a time when you cared about the fashion of your hair. Now, styling is a tactical choice.
Squirrels are trickier. They are small and require greater marksmanship than you are confident you have. Archery was never something you did until the world bled grey and demanded it of you.
The animal flicks its bushy tail, prancing about over thick tree roots. You wait for the moment it stills.
“How’s it going?” someone says, and you jump back in a step, fingers nearly slipping and releasing the arrow off at the ground.
Blue. You whirl around to see that she’s snuck up in a tree behind you, nimble and light on her feet, with curiosity filling her eyes as she sits perched on a branch, one that would be too high for you to ever climb. Her brown hair is hidden under her hood, the tip of her nose flushed pink from the air, and she rubs her hands together to brush off the crumbs of tree bark. Her movements remind you of the squirrel.
It takes a moment for your muscles to soften. You glance back at the squirrel and it’s already scampered off.
“Going great,” you tell her flatly, sighing through your nose. You can be patient with her. She’s nice, young. She’d snuck you extra food. “Shouldn’t you be with Ghost?”
“I’m just stopping by to tell you that we’re leaving. And—“ she squints her eyes in the distance for a moment, “That there’s a couple of those fucks due south.”
Those fucks.
Lovely. You glance around at the unfamiliar trees. From down here, you don’t see anything, but from her vantage point, her scope of sight is better for scouting threats.
“They’re pretty far off. Just be careful, okay?”
“Thanks. I will,” you nod.
Her bright stare then flickers to your braids. “You did your hair... What are those called again?”
She frowns, searching for the word somewhere in a corner of her young brain. You’re surprised that a ten-year-old girl doesn’t know what French braids are; they’d been all you wore as a kid. But then you realize her normal life came to an end at age five. Perhaps many of the memories have faded, replaced with more useful knowledge that her father has had to stuff in there.
You swallow. “Braids?”
“Braids,” she repeats, tasting the foreign word with a click of her tongue. “Right. They look really cool on you.”
“These ones are pretty shitty because I don’t have anything to keep them in.”
Blue starts to say, "Maybe you could—"
But a gruff call cuts through the trees, beckoning her head to turn.
"Blue. Let's go."
Your own eyes follow the voice and land on Ghost some odd paces away. He is already staring at you through lidded eyes, a palpable energy rolling off his body in waves that you can feel even from this distance. Over his shoulders, he carries the fawn with ease. Large palms clasping the knobby ankles. A steady drip of its blood creates a red stain in the snow beside his boot.
He looks horrific. A smear of crimson on the skull. Dressed in all black, carrying a dead animal as if it is nothing. You recall how he'd pushed you to the ground like you were nothing, too. You swallow the thought.
Before you can even look back at Blue, she's already gone. Whirling down from the branch and running over, following in his footsteps as they head back.
It takes another agonizing hour but you manage to kill a squirrel. The Greys don’t find you, luckily. You stuff your coat pockets with some pine needles and decide to call it a meal, knowing that you will have to hunt again tomorrow.
This area of the forest is still new. In your brain, you’ve already etched some markers to find your way back: the pond where they found you, a circle of pine trees to the right of their camp with a big stump in the center, a small creek past the hill. But the way you return back today leads to you approaching the camp from the backside, and you notice something.
Behind the cabin is something covered in a big black tarp. The tarp is peppered with fallen twigs and snow, but still, you think you make out the shape of a vehicle underneath.
They have a car—?
Irritation finds you. How did Ghost manage such things? A goddamn cabin, a deep trench that you assume he dug all by himself. And now a car. Did he also have petrol stored somewhere? By the looks of it, the tarp hasn’t been moved in a while. What is the car for? Is this what he uses to get medicine from the cities?
You almost scoff as your boots crunch the snow.
You won’t have any of our medicine.
There hasn’t even been a chance to consider how you might fend for some yourself. 
For now, you will just focus on food.
Ghost has tied the deer upside down on a branch by the time you are back. You carefully recall the way through their traps. Blue has to unlock the bolted gate for you, but then she runs back to Ghost, who hands a thick blade to her.
“Go on, then, kid.”
“I hate this part,” she mumbles, but he lifts her up so she can reach the knife to the animal’s hind legs, beginning to skin the hide top-down. She wears a concentrated expression as she does so, nose scrunched, and you can tell that skinning deer is a skill her small hands have practiced before. 
Ghost is the one to butcher it.
You skin your squirrel. 
They use the fireplace for cooking, and of course, their dinner is prepared first. While you wait, you undo your braids and snack on the pine needles. Blue is surprisingly quiet, helping her dad cook a little and playing with Grim on the floor, but also flickering her gaze to you every minute or so. 
“Your hair is curly now,” she comments softly during dinner. “From the braids?”
“That happens when you take them out,” you say after swallowing a piece of meat. There’s nothing to wipe your hands on, so you use your trousers as a napkin. Your mother would’ve had a fit. 
“Do you…” you clear your throat, glancing at Ghost and then back to the girl. “Do you want me to braid your hair after dinner?”
She nods sheepishly, but Ghost huffs out a low breath. “I could do that for you, Blue.”
“Ghost,” she sighs. “You don’t know how.”
“How hard can it be?”
But Blue licks her lips and shakes her head, mumbling, “I want her to do it. She’s good at it.”
The way Ghost looks at you is rarely anything but uncomfortable. However, when you sit down on the rug with Blue, your hands finding purchase in her hair, his eyes seem to burn holes through your body deeper than any time before. It is as if letting someone touch his daughter physically sickens him, and causes his breathing to turn weighted and deep. He begrudgingly allows it but supervises, sitting on the couch as you begin braiding her hair. 
Grim sits in her lap. She strokes his fur.
“You have pretty hair,” you tell her.
Blue softly wonders, “How can hair be pretty?”
“I… I don’t know,” you say. “The color, the length. It’s just pretty, I think.”
“Ghost cuts it for me,” she says, turning to look at him.
“Wait, don’t move. It’ll mess me up.”
“Oh, sorry,” she turns back but continues. “He gets it wet and has me lay my head on the tree stump so it’s all flat. Then, he chops it off with his knife. Right, Ghost?”
His response is a low hum. It’s stiff, pushing through a tense jaw.
You finish the two French braids, running your fingers over them.
"I don't have anything to tie them, but they look really nice on you."
It is then that Ghost stands up and disappears for a minute. When he returns, he has a roll of black thread that you believe he used for your stitches.
With the knife from his belt, he cuts two pieces, bends down, and silently offers them to your palm. Blue lights up. You tie off the braids and she stands, toying with them happily, and asking her dad what he thinks. Finally, you notice his shoulders soften.
"Beautiful," he murmurs quietly, just for her. He strokes the braided hair and then gives a gentle brush of his thumb over her cheek. "Always look beautiful, Baby Blue."
"Don't—" her cheeks flush and she briefly flashes her eyes to you, "Don't call me that."
"Used to call you it all the time,” he grumbles. “Gettin' too old for it, are you?"
What you learn Blue isn't too old for is curling up with him on the couch. This is the first night you stay in the cabin after dinner rather than retreating to your shed, simply because they've left some embers in the fireplace for warmth. You sit on the floor beside it. Blue sits with Ghost and he pulls out a book to read quietly to her.
You try not to look.
It touches you in a way you didn't think it would. It seems so normal. For a moment, you imagine a world where things could be different. A world where Blue wore braids to school every day. A world where Ghost could pick a new book out, rather than read the same ones over and over. A world where, maybe, you could have a family of your own, rather than be an uncomfortable witness to theirs.
But your family is nothing now. You never even knew what happened to your parents. The end arrived when you were away from them. No wifi. No service. Whether they died or turned Grey, you could never be certain. A pit in your gut told you their end happened years ago.
You’re brought out of your daze when Ghost stands from the couch. Blue has fallen asleep. He carries the girl to her room, and you take it as a sign to leave for your place outside. 
But before you can open the door, his voice stops you, dropping down to an even lower octave.
“Hold on.”
You turn. “What?”
“We need to talk.”
Despite the warmth from the fireplace, your blood goes icy rigid. You stand there and press your lips. “If this is about the braids, then I won’t do it again. I was just trying to be nice.”
“No. Not that,” and he holds your stare, unwavering, “It’s about your old camp. The other day, you said there were… hoards of ‘em.” 
The words roll off his tongue thoughtfully as if this is something that has been mulling over in that brain of his for a while. Thoughts belonging to a skull. A ghost. A father. 
Ghost continues gruffly, “Where were you?”
“West of here,” you say. “Jesus, I think, at least. I couldn’t really tell where I was going.”
“How far?”
“Far, but not that far.” Your eyes drift to the floor. “By the forest’s edge.”
“We don’t see that many of them here,” Ghost mutters. This might be the most he’s spoken to you in five days. “Only ever a few at a time. Ten at the most.”
“That’s how it was for us. But more came, and then,” you exhale, “And then there were too many.”
Your eyes close, recalling the frantic manner in which you escaped. The last glimpse of your old life had been the mangled arm of your sister, thick bites cutting down to white bone. In a way, you were glad there were enough of them to kill her.
Your eyes reopen. “We should’ve had an escape plan, something for emergencies. We got too complacent after making it for so long.”
All Ghost says is, “Yeah. You should have.”
And then he is dismissing you with a lazy wave of his hand, turning to give you his back. You scowl, roll your eyes as he is not looking, and leave the cabin. Your spine already aches before you even lay down on the floorboards for the night.
You wonder if Ghost has his own emergency plans; what would have to happen for him to abandon this perfect setup? How would he do it? The memory of the car out back finds you as you drift off. But your sleep that night is haunted by terrible, grey dreams.
It usually is.
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Hunting on your own is different than hunting with Paul. There's some learning to do. You have to study the tracks on your own and observe the marks of antlers against the trees. For the first week, you don't get a single deer. Only squirrels. One skinny hare. Ghost and Blue don't go with you; the fawn, rabbits, and stored cans and jars hold them over.
Most evenings are spent braiding Blue's hair. I like the way it feels, she claims. Ghost gets used to it. He still watches from the couch but rather than stiffly staring, he lays down and relaxes, placing a hand over his chest.
The next time they go hunting, Blue's hair is still woven in the French braids when you catch an interesting sight through the cabin's window. She stands on the dining chair to reach Ghost's mask, peeling it off. You can only see the back of his head: brown hair, chopped short.
So there is a human under that thing?
She sets the mask on the table and picks up a clean one. A different one.
When they come out, Ghost with his guns and Blue with her knives, he appears more like a father than a character from a horror film. There is no plastic skull. Instead, a cutout in the fabric reveals the tops of his temples and the strong bridge of his nose. You would never say it, but you prefer this one.
Blue must catch your staring because she tells you, "The other one was starting to smell. I made him change."
"Good call," you quip under your breath.
Again, you go your separate ways. You head for the pond. You think you can hear them somewhere nearby, but ignore it, focusing on the deer prints in the snow. It's hard to tell if they're fresh. It hasn't snowed in two days.
Your footsteps quiet to a halt when you hear light crunching sounds. Another living thing is close by. You take position behind a thick pine, eyes scanning the wooded area and the pond to the right of you. But you know the sound of deer, and you're starting to learn the sound of Blue.
She's scampering towards the pond, just her. You can't see Ghost. As protective as he can be, he allows the girl some length to her leash. Offers bite-sized moments of independence. She's allowed to play in the tree just outside their camp before sundown, but only if he is watching. So you imagine he has let her run off ahead only because he is somewhere nearby.
From the distance, you watch her lurch for a squirrel.
She is quick about it.
Grabs the neck, and holds it up. A quick slice to the jugular. Blood seeps. She frowns, closing her eyes and murmuring something that, in the quietness, you think is along the lines of: I'm sorry. Tried to make it quick for you.
And then she begins to skin it, right then and there.
Young, nimble hands taught to survive.
As she does so, you decide you've seen enough. You have your own food to find.
But as you move from the tree, your eyes drift to find another watcher. A form takes shape behind a distant oak, near the pond. Your heart spikes; a Grey? But no— a Grey would already be running towards her scent. This shape belongs to a human, a withered man with hair that juts out in grey clumps, and crazed eyes pointed right at her.
More so, a revolver pointed.
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darknight3904 · 11 months ago
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A preview to part two of the Gojo x Zenin!reader I wrote.
Warnings: None
September 2016 (Gojo: 26 You:25)
"Shut up Megumi!"
Tsumiki's room door slamming is loud enough to rattle the entire house.
"Not again..." Gojo groans from his spot on the couch.
Today was his first day off in months, he wished you were here and snuggled into the couch with him but instead, you were off on some mission with Nanami and that kid he was training, Ino was it?
Gojo wished you were here so you could deal with whatever the Fushiguro siblings were fighting about now. You had always been better at diffusing the situation that he was. After all, he'd often end up instigating more problems since Megumi was so funny-looking when he got mad.
"What's going on now?" Gojo asked the dark-haired boy
"Nothing. I just told her that her hair was weird looking today. Where is-"
"She's out on a mission with Nanamin. I'll be handing dinner tonight so go start your homework and apologize. " Gojo said
"You sure you can handle that without burning the place down?" Megumi asked
"Of course I can! I'm the strongest sorcerer alive...I can handle a little dinner."
"Goodnight, Zenin-san!" Ino called out the window as the car drove away
He really was a lovely boy, strong too. Nanami had trained him well. The walk up the sidewalk to your shared home with Gojo and the kids was your last sliver of peace though as you could already hear yelling.
What horrors awaited you on the other side of this door?
"Megumi, would it kill you to help out?"
"Yeah probably. That pot is gonna overflow."
Your feet quickly carry you to the kitchen where Satoru is standing amongst...well you're not really sure what he's trying to cook.
"What's going on?" You ask
"You're home!" Gojo called excitedly, "How's Nanamin?"
"He's great. What's all this?" You ask gesturing to a pan that's been burned so bad its normally white bottom is black with charred food.
"He's trying to make dinner. He's been trying for almost two hours." Megumi says
"Satoru you're 26, can't you cook anything?" You ask as you pull your hair up, ready to take the spoon away from him
"I can cook. " He defends
"Frozen chicken nuggets don't count." You laugh
"Hey!"
Gojo watches as you toss what he was working on, to be frank, he's not sure what he was trying to make at this point. It had started as pork katsu and then evolved into a disaster.
"What's wrong now?" You ask as you rummage through the fridge.
"I wanted to have a nice meal ready for when we got back from your mission. Like you do for me." Gojo says
You can hear the pout in your boyfriend's words.
"It's alright, Satoru. It's the thought that counts." You assure him
"Next time you go away, I'm going to make the best dinner ever." He declares, resting his chin on your shoulder as you fill a pot up with water.
"Well, Nanami and I have orders for Friday...so I'd get learning, Satoru." You smile.
"Perfect. Friday night, my dinner will be even better than yours. I'm going to go pick out a recipe on my laptop." He declares marching off to who knows where.
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Of course, Megumi." You say, the boy rarely asked questions, so you were always excited to answer them when he did.
"Can you get someone else to cover your mission on Friday? I think if you leave him alone with the kitchen again he might blow us all up."
The rest of this is out now. Check it out here
My Masterlist
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