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fic-heaven · 2 months

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Ghost x witty! Reader x Price

Jealous much?

You spent too much time with Price.

Of course it was on purpose, if anyone asked you'd agree, after all, you are no liar. But who could blame you? It was so much fun to piss Ghost off this way.

Since the day you first paired up together in your first solo mission you were like finger and nail, deadly separate but even deadlier together. Your partnership bloomed into a friendship so rare even the captain couldn't believe it at first... The big bad Ghost willingly attached to a sassy clown like you? Wasn't Johnny the closest thing to a friend Ghost had? Obviously no, because the way he'd joke, train, protect and tell you everything that reached his ears spoke volumes of his deep attachment to you.

You knew this, of course. And although you felt just as close to him that didn't stop you from forming other friendships of your own and Simon was indifferent of this until he wasn't.

He'd wait wait for you on your room's door, respectful of your space and privacy but you never open, so him being worried decided to let himself in only to see you were already gone, to later be informed by Soap that you are having breakfast with John Price.

That happend THREE times in a week.

Ghost would wait for you on the stairs closest to the gym eager to spar with you and enjoy the funny remarks you did about anyone who crossed you or just pretty much hear whatever the hell you wanted to say without him having to saying much in return. Because that's your routine, so where the fuck are you? He sees you carrying a stack of papers laughing with the captain only giving Ghost an apologetic face before returning to your riddles. That happend TWICE.

See, Ghost is a patient man specially with you being a walking headache, but this? You knew he wouldn't hold it any longer. And you were eager to see how he'd explode.

His last straw was during a mission where you had to rescue a number of hostages. You two behaved with the same professionalism as always with a non so professional comment here and there, all normal, until you met with the captain and Ghost felt you instantly untangle yourself from his presence. Like Price's dry comments and even dryer humour was more interesting than Ghost's.

You were well aware the lieutenant wouldn't say a word about his obvious discomfort because what reason would he have? You were just attentive to your captain instead of your lieutenant, woops. Also considering the way Ghost is, he would never admit he has a crush on you unless he's provoked too far. So you'll use Price to give him a little push on the right direction.

Out of pure entertainment obviously, not because you loved that bastard too much to confess yourself. Yeah...

Simon didn't have a good enough reason to be pissed so that any person would understand without thinking he's jealous until you gave him one: At your captain's command, you two launched an ambush to the enemies corralling them dangerously close to the hostages, once they were eliminated, you three made a quick work of gathering the hostages out of the boat they were previously captured to wait for the rescuing helos to land while keeping them as far as possible from the bomb the enemies had planted. The moment you rushed inside the boat, Price had to tackle Ghost to the ground so he wouldn't run after you, it didn't take long when you trotted back to them with a few files in hand and a couple of minutes later, the boat exploded. Price smiled proudly, praising you with enthusiasm. "I knew you could do it, hon. Well-fucking-done! This calls for a celebratory drink, don't ya think?"

Ghost didn't speak to you for the whole flight to the base, his eyes were glaring daggers at your form while you discussed the content of the files with Price, seemingly careless about Ghost's state. Of course you were worried about him when Price said the tall brit tried to go after you, you asked if he was alright but the brief "m'fine." he gave you seemed to be enough answer for you to turn around and chat with the captain.

During morning drills, Ghost sat on a chunk of grass near the fences. His imposing presence did wonders making the soldiers around focus on their training, chores and other tasks, Price deeply thanked him for it because apparently he was busy with other matters of his own, surely with you. He sniffed trying to focus on finishing painting the mask he was holding and totally not thinking about you and Price alone somewhere far from him.

How dare the captain confide in you to gather important Intel he could had easily ordered Ghost to pick quicker than your short legs could carry you?

How dare Price spend more time with a stupidly annoying Sargeant instead of his loyal lieutenant?

How dare you enjoy Prices' presence more than Simon's? Was it because he was more handsome? Because he spoke much more than him? He surely didn't tease you the same way Simon did... Right?

He saw a flash of light from the corner of his eye, raising his gaze up without moving his head an inch he saw your dog tags dangling on your chest reflecting the light of the torching sun almost blinding his him.

The moment you spot your lieutenant you giggled and it irked something ugly in him. Were you mocking him?

You shot Ghost a challenging look he was soon returning with a tilt of his head as to say "oh really? I'll show you." He dropped the mask he was holding to the grass, abruptly standing so fast some passerby yelped in horror, Simon rapidly approaches you from the other side of the training field aggressively bumping into other operators who didn't see him but turned white at the sight of the angry lieutenant glaring ahead, a few rookies looked at the scene about to unfold in fright, some ran to find the captain thinking this would end up bloody.

-"What's got your face like a teapot funeral, lieutenant?"

-"Who do you think you are hiding crucial information of the mission from your superior!?"

-"We were reading the files on the ride here. You chose not to read them, Sim-"

-"Don't fucking call me that! I'm your lieutenant! Got it!? If someone farts I hear it first, if Price has something on his mind I'll be the first he informs, if Intel must be gathered I'd have to know."

You listened with humour all over the face, he was getting so frustrated he looked like an angry two-meter tall pitbull. "My my, if I didn't know any better I'd say you're jealous."

-"I will rip you apart. Hang your corpse on a pole for everyone to see..."

-"That a promise? I'd make a beautiful flag~"

Ghost was on your face huffing like an angry bull, his shoulders heaving with the force of his huffs. He was frustrated as hell with your enchanting wit that did nothing but enamour him further and the fact that he could literally intimidate anyone but you. It was driving him crazy.

You sighed "Are you really THAT mad, dear? I mean come on. You know you are the Captain's favorite but I deserve some of his time too."

He opened his mouth, his skull mask looming over you so close he did you the favor of shielding your face from the sun until "HEY!"

Price stepped between you, but you rose your hand to stop him with a serene look. "No need to baby us, cap. We were just having a peep talk."

Ghost took your arm dragging you away to a quieter place after you calmed your captain but John wasn't so convinced sprinting to you and stopping Simon by gripping your other arm. In that moment they looked like two kids fighting for a toy. You couldn't help but laugh out loud your head falling back not breaking the increasing tension among them.

-"Lieutenant Riley, you are out of line-"

-"I'm out of line? YOU are out of line! Fraternizing with this sargeant, giving her additional support and exposing sensitive information to her like she's ranks above her current one!"

-"Watch your accusations, you won't like the repercussions, besides you are no saint either threatening the life of this Sargeant in front of the others. This is unacceptable behavior from a lieutenant!"

-"OH wanna talk about unacceptable behaviour!? I've kept quiet for far too long. You wanna fuck this woman so bad you risk your position as our captain, it's pathetic... I never expected something like this from you Johnathan."

Your half lidded eyes shot to Price waiting for an answer, the wide smile you held slightly turned downwards at your captains silence. He looked stoic but there was a slight hint of nervousness that manifested in the way he pursed his lips and glared at his lieutenant.

"For real?" You asked. Ghost tsked, Price's hand never wavered from his position gripping your left arm, Ghost didn't either.

"Wanna know something funnier?" You asked, and finally they both broke the eye contact to look at you. "You two wanna fuck me so bad it's getting too obvious. So I suggest something: Do whatever you planned for today, come to my room at night TOGETHER and make up by doing whatever you planned to do to me."

Ghost's eyes widened and Price looked down trying to come up with a replay clearly as stunned as Simon.

"Think of it as a... Hmmm... A bonding exercise! Also a way to make peace. We will all benefit from it, and afterwards we won't have to talk about it if you don't want to." The way you spoke, so sure of yourself made the two men rethink whatever the hell they wanted to spit.

Ghost finally spoke lowly "And if we want to talk about it...?"

Your smile widen, your hands softly took the arms that gripped them making them both shiver as if they had been electrocuted for a moment.

"Then I'm sure we can come up with a deal." You looked back at Price who still had his blue eyes firmly planted on the ground. "Captain?"

"I have a meeting with Laswell at nine o'clock." Price finally rose his gaze to your face, his cheeks were dusted pink in embarrassment accentuating the beautiful constellation of freckles on his face "I'll cancel and skip dinner."

Ghost nods at his captain's decision, you look at the masked brit waiting for his own response "I had to be with Johnny and Kyle somewhere t'night. They'll be well off without me."

"Fantastic! My room at nine, then." You chirped until Price stopped you.

"No-" He abruptly interrupted. Ghost and you looked at him in surprise, nervousness lazed on Price's voice after he shook his head and recomposed himself "My office. We'll go there, that way people will think we'll be addressing the matter of Ghost's public outburst."

Ghost growled out "Public outburst?" But you nodded enthusiastic "Perfect plan! Also it wouldn't be far from the truth at all, am I right fellas?"

By that point the two men had let go of your arms but kept a closer distance to you, their previous angry expressions had softened seeking your eyes with desire, the voids of their pupils were so dilated you could see your smirk reflected on them.

"This will be quite the experience."

Who should I write next ;) ? Requests open!

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #cod #john price #john price x reader #price x reader #ghost x reader x price #price x reader x ghost #witty reader

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baldval · 6 days

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More Husk please! I loved the one you did. My heart was like 😚❤️‍🔥

It's common knowledge that some cats don't like water. Mine actually does though, haha 😆

So maybe somehow Husk got wet and is all grumpy because of it. (Maybe Niffty set something on fire and caused the sprinklers to go off, idk) so reader helps dry him off and is being all soft and sweet and he can't keep his feelings to himself anymore?

Ughhh I love this purrfect man so much ♡

DANG!₊˚⊹♡

characters: husk x gn!reader

wc: 861

warnings: cursing, making out

a/n: idk if i like this but here it is

"For fuck's sake." Husk was mad. Very mad.

You had decided to bake something for the group, some simple chocolate chip cookies. You were following a recipe you had found online, and everything was going great, until you confused Farenheit with Celsius. That lead to, not only the cookies being burnt, but the smoke also activated the sprinkles in the kitchen.

Coincidentally, Husk had just entered the kitchen to look for a snack.

So now Husk is wet, and he hates being wet.

You felt terribly sorry, apologising a million times as Husk kept telling you it was okay, but you could tell he was angry, even if he tried to hide it to not hurt your feelings.

So you offered to help him dry up, taking him to the bathroom and caressing his body with a towel. However, his fur seemed to be hyper-absorbant since that didn't really seem to help and Husk kept being annoyed at his current state.

He closed his eyes and sighed, your fingers lifted his chin up so you could start using the towel to dry up his face. He groaned.

"Sorry" you mumbled "I'm almost done."

His eyelids opened slowly, finding you close to him, his dark eyes fixed on yours, you noticed he started studying your face, growing ashamed of the fact you were ashamed.

"Really though, it's okay" You looked away from him as he spoke. "I really don't mind."

"Except you do." You took a step back, away from him, unaware of the fact Husk wanted you to be closer not further. "I can feel it."

"I mean- yes I was a bit annoyed..." you turned your gaze towards the floor, when he realised this, he held your chin, forcing you to look at him. "but, it's okay. It will be a funny story." You smiled at him and he chuckled. "How do you even confuse Farenheit with Celsius?" You laughed. "I really don't know. I guess I never bake." "I'll have to teach you then."

"Oh, I would love that."

A silence filled the room, yet not uncomfortable. The towel was now laying on a table while you both stared at eachother, smiling.

Husk's eyes moved towards your lips, it seemed as if he was almost analysing them.

You noticed this. "Do you like my lips or why are you staring?" You teased, he immediately stopped staring and you could see how his cheeks where gradually getting redder. "I'm joking, don't worry." "Yes." You looked at him confused. "I do like them." It was your turn to blush as he got up and closer to you, a finger of his over your lip. "They're quite pretty." Your body went stiff, realising what was going on: dim lighting, silence, being the closest to one another you had ever been.

Oh, and also, Husk had just confessed he liked your lips, whatever that meant.

Dark eyes wandered over your mouth, following his thumb as it now slid to the other side. Hesitantly, he moved even closer until his lips hovered over yours. The anticipation that filled the room made sure to cut off both your breathing and his. But then, Husk closed the distance between your mouths, hidden feelings bursting out into the open. Husk’s kiss was soft, and you made sure to reciprocate slowly, easing into the unknown sensation of kissing him.

When the kiss stopped he remained still. Your shaky hands slid up his torso, fingertips grasping his fur to keep him in place for as long as the sweet burning sensation sat on your guts. You weren't sure of what came over yourself, maybe it was the curiosity of having him as more than a friend. Maybe it was the thoughts that had constantly whispered at the back of your head how attractive you thought he was, the thoughts you had made sure to ignore and so you never acted on them. Maybe it was the thrill of crumbling his aloof and distant demeanor in between your hands.

Maybe it had been all of those things together, but you slightly and eagerly nudged your nose against his. And so he kissed you again, with a deep sigh of surrender and his hands roaming up your thighs. The sounds of kissing filled the kitchen, your tongue sliding across his tongue, his hungry mouth now fighting against your, your hands moving towards his neck. His fingers squeezed your skin, a breathy exhale left your throat almost becoming a soft whine.

“What…” the cat-like bartender tried to form a coherent sentence, but it seemed like his brain for once wasn’t cooperating.

“I…” you cleared your throat, blinking a couple of times “I don’t know.”

He swallowed, trying to find words once again.

“Listen, I…”

“It’s okay” nervously you tightened your grip on the back of his neck, now anxious of letting him go “we don’t have to talk about this today or tomorrow. We can just… forget it happened.”

“We can just let it be… for tonight.”

“Yeah” you pulled him close again, his body relaxed as he followed your movement and searched for your lips once more.

“Yeah, just for tonight…”

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin hotel #husk hazbin hotel #husk x reader #husk hazbin hotel headcanon #cursed cat alastor #hazbin hotel husk #husk #husk x you #husk headcanons

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rustboxstarr · 7 months

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🗡"Seeking attention like some common whore"🗡

Summary: Eddie doesn't think before he talks when he's pissed, he regrets that now when he has to explain to his daughter why her mom can't wear whatever she wants.

Pairings: Dad!Eddie Munson x Mom!Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff, some fighting, Eddie being a dick, Eddie and R being a healthy couple and talking about their problems lol

Wordcount: 2.6 k

A/N: I found this in my docs and thought why not post it? Idk where the idea for this came from but I guess its mildly funny 🤷‍♀️

Love yas!

Check out my other works!

You woke up in a sour mood on Saturday, head pounding and your mouth extremely dry, a bitter taste resting on your gums. Your week had been long and challenging, you hadn’t even been that keen on going out partying Friday evening but Cindy, your closest colleague had psyched you up and made you feel excited about the whole thing, you even enjoyed yourself, had quite a few drinks, lots of laughs, some stumbling around with some other girls from the office as you made your way out and a permanent sloppy grin painted your features as you got out the cab and stepped through the door to your small house where so much love had been shared you were comfortable calling it a home. That grin was wiped clean off the moment you stepped through the door.

A hangover was beating down on you, made even worse when you woke up with no long muscly arms wrapped around you, or any limbs even touching you for that matter. You craned your neck from your position lying on your side to see Eddies back to you, shallow even breaths making his torso expand evenly. It felt melancholy, not waking up with a comforting warmth wrapped around you, and you almost let that feeling overtake you before you rolled your eyes as you remembered what had actually gone down the night before, the reason for why there would be no awaiting tylenol and water on your bedside table and no lazy saturday morning cuddles before Ophelia woke up.

You dragged yourself out of bed, the weight on your feet feeling undeniably heavy and sagging as your post drunk state hit you like a slap in the face when your head leveled upright. Taking a deep breath you decided to go downstairs and get yourself some pain killers, a very large glass of water or two and a strong cup of coffee.

Rubbing your eyes of sleep you sipped your coffee at the kitchen table, sunk into the wooden chair, much too hard for any slouching to be at all comfortable. Footsteps pattered against the wooden stairs alerting you that someone was coming to join you, much to your dismay it wasn't a light pitter patter of tiny feet but heavy steps of a tired grown man probably equally as sour as you. The thuds alerting his presence caused you to quickly adjust your worn cotton nightgown, pulling the hem up comfortably to cover any awkward cleavage.

You didn't even look his way as you heard the same footsteps enter the sage green and powder blue kitchen, you made no effort to stand up and greet him in any way instead you just sipped your coffee and looked out of the window. Your husband’s and your own car parked in the driveway in front of the empty quiet street of the suburbs. Green grass damp with the morning dew brightening up the dark hours of the early winter morning, a colorful painted mailbox even more a stark contrast to the blacks and deep blues that painted the sky.

Eddie poured himself a cup of coffee and folded himself into the opposite chair, a low groan slipping past his lips at the action. All you did was glance over to him, at the interruption, but Eddie's eyes were fixed on the maple of the table as his hands wrapped around the dark Star Wars mug, the same one he drank his coffee in every morning, just like you with your Zelda mug. Before you flicked your eyes back to the view of the street through the window you noticed Eddie was shirtless, pale skin dampened in the lack of light shining at him, torso littered with tattoos, snaking up his arms and chest, down to his hips. He too hadn’t bothered to change into day clothes yet.

The silence loomed over the small open kitchen as you both sipped your coffee in quiet, you refusing to meet his gaze as Eddie chanced glances at you, trying to gather what mood you were in and by extension how the rest of the day would look like. All he could understand was that you were nowhere near happy and that meant that his day would probably be even longer than the workweek had been.

He cleared his throat in an attempt to get you to look at him but you blatantly ignored him and continued staring out the window. Just as he was about to try again the familiar noise of tiny feet tread the steps down the stairs that he had taken not long ago. In an instant both of your heads turned in the direction of the hall awaiting Ophelia, eyes fixed on the corner before a head of messy brown curls appeared.

In her blue whale pajamas, clutching her favorite teddy bear, Mr Burr as she so pleasantly called him. Rugged white fabric, fluff lost with the amount of love it had been given the past four and a half years and stuffing unevenly placed in the head and body, leaving a thin long neck on the seal in its rightful position of Ophi’s elbow.

“Hia baby” had it been any other day your voice would be alot more chipper, but today, you couldn't muster up the strength, your tone was flat and croaky, clear evidence of the night before. Eddie winced behind you as he heard it, you were probably not feeling very well and he couldn't help but feel the slight guilt that part of it was his fault with the fighting yesterday, but also not being there to dote on you the morning after you had been out drinking.

“Hi” Ophis' voice was near a whisper, still tired and not fully awake, she walked over to you, holding her hands out expectantly. You groaned as your weak muscles worked to pick your daughter up and sit her in your lap, that too made Eddie wince, guilt bubbling up even more than it already had. “Sleep ok?” he leaned over the table to let her slide her small hand into his big palm “No it was too loud” she complained as she let her dad wrap his fingers around her wrist. “Oh I’m sorry baby, were mommy and daddy talking too loud? you should have come in and told us” you hugged her to you as you felt bad about keeping your daughter up. “Probably would have helped me get to bed faster than staying up till 4 am” you mumbled, too groggy and hoarse for Ophi to understand what you were saying. Eddie let go of his daughter's hand with an eye roll, occupying himself with a large gulp of bitter coffee instead.

“Why were you and daddy fighting?” Ophelia turned to you as she nuzzled her head to your collarbone “Me and daddy just had a little argument” you explained as a hand instinctively went to comfort her, smoothing down her hair atop her head. “What was it about?” she pressed as Eddie stood up from his seat to prepare a bowl of cereal for her and later on, her sister.

You looked over at him and decided, you may as well just tell her “Hmm well you know when Daddy says you can’t wear some things?” looking down at her. “Oh great turn our daughter against me” Eddie grumbled as he poured milk into a pink plastic bowl, you scowled at him as the little girl spoke “Yeah, I don't like that, he tells Woxy too” she frowned up at you, it was difficult to take her seriously as she tried to pronounce her sister Roxette’s nickname. “Yeah well daddy does that with me too” you explained in a soft tone, despite the fact that you were actually really annoyed at the fact. “Why? Daddy says it's because I'm just little but you’re old” you chuckled, not catching the way Eddie's lips tugged up at the corners. “Yeah, I’m old”

Eddie sat back down before placing the bowl and a small spoon in front of Ophelia's usual place at the kitchen table, signaling for you to let her down so she could eat. Ophelia crawled down and then up again to sit with her knees digging into the specially placed cushion on her chair.

“Daddy” she looked up after a few mouthfuls “Hm?” he turned to give her his full attention “Why can't mommy wear what she wants? She’s not little, she's a woman” Ophelia asked confused. The gears were visibly turning in Eddie's brain as he thought over how best to explain it, he couldn't exactly tell his almost 5 year old daughter that her mom couldn’t waltz around in skirts that he barely considered an actual article of clothing and tops that reveal the things that are only for his eyes to see. “Um… well” he was fighting for words. “Because sometimes Daddy forgets that I’m not little like you” you interrupted, booping Ophelia's nose to earn a light giggle “So he forgets that it's not okay for him to tell me how to dress” even though your voice is soft you shoot Eddie a hard glare giving him insight into how you were actually feeling about him at the moment.

Eddie rolled his eyes again and sat back in his chair, bringing the black ceramic up to his lips. “But listen Ophi, ok this is very important” you lent forward to catch her eye “When you become a big girl and same goes for your sister, if someone other than me or your daddy ever tells you what you can and can't do you have to come to us, and tell us ok?” Ophelia nodded in understanding “Especially if it's a boy ok? Because it's very important that you remember that you are your own person, and that no one can tell you how to dress ok?” Ophelia nodded again “You gonna come tell us if that happens?” “Yeah” Ophelia nodded happily as you sat back to mimic Eddie and bring your own coffee cup up to your lips and your eldest began her meal again.

You recognised Eddie's face as he stared unfocused behind you, he was clearly mulling something over by the looks of it arguing with himself in his mind. Under any other circumstances you would ask him “Penny for your thought princess?” in some corny southern british accent, but today you simply didn't want to know.

Ophelia seemed not to notice the tension between her two parents as she told you both about a strange dream she had where Eddie’s guitar had turned into an airplane and she had flown off with her friend Louise Harrington in it, both you and Eddie humoring her as she spoke with mouthfuls of cheerios. Soon enough she was situated under a blanket with various stuffed animals and a bottle of water on the couch to watch her morning cartoons next to three year old little Roxette who munched on some cut up slices of toast by Eddie and sat watching intently as bright colors lit up the screen.

As Eddie got Ophelia and Roxette settled you pulled yourself upstairs with the intent of a shower and a fresh change of clothes, but decided to belly flop head first into the soft pillows of your bed, almost dozing off as the door next to your right opened. You didn't bother looking up as you heard Eddie close the door carefully and tiptoed around the bed to his own side, under the impression that you had passed out but was instantly startled as you awkwardly turned your head to press your cheek into the pillows, facing Eddie as he was about to climb back into bed himself.

Your voice was muffled against the pillow as you spoke, “Come to shout about what a massive slut I am again?” Eddie cringed as he heard you, he took a deep breath before sitting down next to you, his back to the headboard. “No..” he sighed “You sure? Or would you maybe prefer attention seeking.. whore? Was it? No no wait, seeking attention like some common whore, that's what it was” Eddie shrunk in on himself as you repeated the words he had shouted at you in fury the night before, you knew Eddie would come around, you knew he would apologize, but this particular time you felt he had really crossed a line so you had no problem sprinkling some salt in his wounds.

“Baby.. I’m sorry” he whispered as he leaned over to place a hand on your back and rub it up and down. “Mmmm” you sarcastically hummed “I-I really shouldn't have said that, I was being an absolute dick” at that you hummed in agreement, face still half smushed into the pillows as you looked up at him. “I just, you know how I feel about Billy.. I already don't want him around you, and when I saw you come home like that I just knew he was probably lapping it up” a roll of your eyes “But I took my anger out on the wrong person, I’m really sorry” Eddie moved down the bed to lie on his side as his hand continued rubbing up and down your back.

“Mhm and?” you looked at him as his face was now level with yours “And..” he breathed fighting a roll of his eyes, he knew what you were doing “I just thought about you know if Ophelia or Roxette ever comes home with a boyfriend” “mhm” you coaxed him on “I wouldn't be that happy to know he was telling them what to wear” you broke out into a wide smug grin, even though there were a few more things to unpack about yesterday, an apology was all you needed for the moment.

“Yup” you popped the ‘p’ even more smug, this time Eddie did actually roll his eyes but a playful grin tugged at his lips. “But” Eddie’s face suddenly went serious “I would… appreciate if maybe you don't wear those kinds of outfits around, at least Billy in the future” he was feeling sheepish at his request. “In my defense” you pushed yourself up to lay your head on your crossed forearms “I didn’t actually know Billy was gonna be there” you grinned “also if I knew that, do you seriously think I would have worn that?” Eddie chuckled “Yeah ok no, that's true” another smug hum of approval. “Mmmm but why you gotta wear that stuff anyway” he started of with a hint of a whine “Who you tryna impress when you have a big hunky husband with the biggest dick you've ever set your eyes on” a loud snort rang through the room as you turned to lie on your side, letting Eddie scoot closer and wrap his arms around you.

“Maybe I’m tryna impress my boss, ya know get myself a sweet promotion, or maybe that so called big dick you pride yourself just isn't cutting it anymore” you nuzzled your face into his bare chest as it vibrated with laughter “Well first of all you are the boss, hate to break it to ya butchya’ can’t really get promoted babe, second whatchu’ talkin’ ‘bout woman, just last morning you were drooling over it” you rolled your eyes as a big amused smile spread across your face.

“Well now you're just lying, I was not drooling”

“Oh Eddie! Oh Eddie god! Oh my god! AAUUH Ugh! Your cock is so big oh my goood! Fuck Eddie yes! Yes! YEEES!” Eddie's voice turned into an awfully high pitched imitation of a girl's voice as he whispered as to not let the girls hear, whole body shaking with you in his grasp to get his point across further.

“Oh my god shut up!” you clasped a hand around his mouth which Eddie easily pulled away to kiss at your knuckles “I’m getting a divorce” you giggle as you cozy up to Eddie.

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nico-di-genova · 28 days

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Late Night Talks - Strollonso

Written for the prompt: [Lance and Fernando] dead-tired in bed, curled up to each other and they keep making dumb jokes and laughing at them

Warnings: NSFW, not super explicit, but mentioned.

@raapija hopefully this is sort of what you were looking for, I started with answering your prompt and then it just sort of got away from me.

Post Singapore is quickly becoming Lance’s least favorite post-race kind of feel, second only to Qatar which exists in a league of its own. He doesn’t do well in the heat, his body acclimated to colder climates and snow that comes up to his knees. Miami is about the closest he’ll come to acceptable humidity, and only when he can couple it with the lukewarm temperature of the ocean and the salty spray that comes from zipping through the waves on the back of a boat’s tow. But Singapore is the sort of wet heat that clings to you until you can’t breathe around it, it makes driving a car for two hours in on-the-limit conditions near impossible.

“I feel disgusting,” he complains to Fernando, drying the back of his wet hair with a hotel towel and grimacing. He still feels like he has sweat clogging his pores, embedded in his hair follicles, couldn’t seem to get himself clean no matter how hard he scrubbed at his skin.

Fernando, who had taken a shower in his own room because if they had shared it wouldn’t have resulted in attempting to get clean at all, wears a matching expression of discomfort. He’s sprawled across Lance’s bed, in nothing but his boxers and normally that would inspire something in Lance. But sex, especially with Fernando, is a sweaty endeavor and he would like to avoid adding to his already uncomfortable state.

Doesn’t stop him from getting hard anyway, noticeably tenting the towel low on his hips.

Fernando arches an eyebrow, peaks down at Lance through heavy-lidded eyes.

“No, ignore that.”

“Hard to ignore,” Fernando quips, but he’s just as exhausted as Lance and it shows when he doesn’t make an effort to sit up and pull Lance closer. Instead he closes his eyes and readjusts his arm where it’s resting under his head, lets out a sigh that Lance knows is a prelude to quiet snores.

“Don’t fall asleep there,” he complains, shucking off the towel long enough to slide on his own underwear, “You’re taking up the whole bed, asshole.”

He still needs to brush his teeth, probably make an attempt at skincare before the grime of the day sets in and breakouts quickly follow. But standing is beginning to take a lot of effort. It’s like he can feel the weight of the heat bearing down on his shoulders, even though they’re inside, can still feel it pressing on his chest. It’s a good thing they have a late flight tomorrow because Lance’s future plans include nothing more but sleeping until the bone deep exhaustion makes its way out of him.

Fernando hasn’t moved, still lays with his knees hanging off the bed, one arm flung out beside him, legs spread just as wide, like he’s intentionally trying to take up as much space as possible. He nudges Fernando’s knee with his own and it’s the only warning the man gets before Lance is collapsing down beside him, the full weight of him landing on Fernando’s outstretched arm and half on top of his body. They’re laying sideways on the bed, and Lance is too tall for this, immediately finds it uncomfortable. But Fernando smells nice, and he’s warm where Lance presses up against him, so he allows it for the time being. Even if Fernando’s arm is bony and uncomfortable where it’s digging into Lance’s side.

“You are still wet,” Fernando grumbles, still with his eyes closed, still half-asleep, “Off.”

“It’s my bed, old man,”

They share a hotel room most nights now, the separate bookings nothing more than a charade, but they are still technically in Lance’s room. Ignoring Fernando’s griping, he presses closer, throws a leg over the man’s body, finds the crook of Fernando’s neck and nuzzles his nose there, lets his wet hair brush against Fernando’s cheek, until Fernando is wriggling away in discomfort. Annoyance is not a tactic he employs frequently, nor is it one that typically works on Fernando, but it works tonight.

“Like a soggy cat,” Fernando chastises, and then sits up, taking his comforting scent and presence with him.

Lance smiles, satisfied, shifts until he’s right way up on the bed and can let his damp hair soak into the pillows. Fernando lets him get comfortable and then he lays back down, this time with his head resting on Lance’s chest, an area devoid of the moisture from the shower. His breathing evens out pretty quickly, tells Lance he’s quickly drifting back toward unconsciousness. One of his hands splays across Lance’s bare stomach, low enough that his fingers brush along the hair there.

And now it’s his turn to be annoying, because Fernando knows he’s sensitive, uses it to his advantage when he lets his pinkie inch down further.

“This is a dangerous game,” he warns, feels himself grow harder in his underwear.

He can feel when Fernando smiles against him, prickly beard rubbing against the raw skin of his chest with the curl of his lips, “You don’t want to play?”

“Too tired. It would be pretty boring, anyway. I don’t wanna move,” Lance lying flat on his back, Fernando half asleep, both of them pawing at each other’s dicks with flagging interest until the exhaustion won out and the draining adrenaline finally took the last bit of energy they had left. He doubts he could even cum, as tired as he is. And if he did he’d have to trudge back to the shower because no way is he waking up in the morning with cum dried tacky on his stomach alongside the inevitable sweat from being pressed next to Fernando, the human furnace, during the night.

Fernando laughs, quiet, rumbling, “You are a pillow princess anyway.”

“Hey.”

“Is true.”

“It is n-“ he thinks of last night, how Fernando had tried to goad Lance into riding him and he’d made himself more at home on his back. He liked looking up at Fernando, liked burying his head in the crook of his neck and scratching desperately at his back. All things that were pretty hard to do if he was sitting in the air having to dictate the rhythm himself. Lance wasn’t lazy, he just knew what he liked, so sue him.

Fernando knows he’s won when Lance changes the subject. “How do you even know that word?” he’s absentmindedly threading his fingers through Fernando’s hair, the strands mostly dry where Lance’s was still soaking into the pillow. His hair is soft, always well-maintained, soothes something inside Lance because the texture is familiar.

Fernando hums, pleased. Lance tries not to preen at the sound. Pillow princess his ass, he likes to make Fernando feel good too. He can put in the work. If the work is done easily on the comfort of his back.

“I am only forty-two, Lance. Not so old I do not know things.”

“One foot in the grave practically.”

Fernando scoffs, pinches Lance’s stomach in retaliation, “Yes. We go shopping for my headstone tomorrow, pick out flowers.”

Age used to be a thing between them. Back when this started a year ago. When Lance was twenty-four and Fernando still looked at him like he was seeing that kid standing in the Ferrari garage. It had been a thing approximately until the moment Lance took matters into his own hands, took Fernando’s cock in his mouth with practiced ease and any internalized war Fernando was fighting went right out the window. And then it had resurfaced with force the first time Fernando fucked him so hard he was sobbing into the sheets, the sex quickly aborted when Fernando got scared he’d done something wrong, no matter how many times Lance tried to promise it was only that he’d been doing everything right. So they’d had to have a serious discussion, establish boundaries, ensure Lance was in the right headspace to be in a relationship with a man he’d known since he was nine. Now they could joke about it, had put in the work so that the gap in their ages no longer mattered.

“A suit too?” Lance teases, accompanying the press of his words with the pads of his fingers against the base of Fernando’s skull, a pressure he knows helps because of all the times Fernando has done it for him.

Fernando laughs again, more gravely, barely there, “We are planning a funeral or a wedding?”

Lance thinks, stares up at the ceiling and tries to think of a reply that won’t leave him sounding strangled. Wedding. He is startled to find he likes that word, likes it coming from Fernando’s mouth with the concept of Fernando being the person waiting for him at the altar.

“Both. Two birds with one stone,” and then the image of a funeral wedding, both of them standing in a half-dug grave, an arch being replaced with a gravestone, becomes suddenly so funny he can’t stop giggling at the thought of it. “We could leave the reception in a hearse.”

It maybe speaks to his level of exhaustion that he can’t seem to stop laughing at the nonsensical turn in the conversation.

Fernando is still smiling, Lance can still feel it, “You are weird.” He says, and Lance can hear the alternate meaning in the statement, how fond it sounds.

“Been called worse,” Lance jokes, makes sure it stays that, because they both know there’s an element of truth to it. “You almost podium and you are talking about funeral weddings. Strange.”

Oh, yeah, P4. Singapore maybe had taken so much out of him because he’d pushed himself to nearly P3 with nothing but pure spite to fuel him. .3 of a second back from Sergio, chasing the unfamiliar sight of a Red Bull to the finish. He’d felt the desperate need to make up for last year, shut up a certain faction of people that couldn’t seem to keep his name out of their mouths. It wasn’t a podium though, only nearly one, so he still wasn’t particularly satisfied. Fernando had carried most of the excitement for him, praising him in post-race interviews and hugging him as soon as they climbed out of their cars. Lance had already seen pictures of the moment caught from his still active onboard, Fernando’s hand drifting to its natural place at his waist, the other on the back of his helmet. There was of course no sound, so no one had heard the praise Fernando showered him with before they went to be weighed.

‘So proud, cariño. So proud.’

“Almost a podium, Nano. It was P4,” Lance says now, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand, slinking down further into the pillows. Fernando shuffles with the movement, until he’s beside Lance and then they’re both on their sides, parallel to each other. Fernando’s arm wraps around his waist, pulls him closer.

Lance studies the wrinkles forming at the corners of Fernando’s eyes, reaches out to trail the pad of his thumb along them. It is probably one of his favorite features, the mark of years’ worth of laughter. Lance likes to think of Fernando happy, likes when he can make Fernando smile enough that the lines deepen. He doesn’t like when Fernando presses his lips together as he’s doing now, a thin line of dissatisfaction.

“Still a good result.”

Lance concedes, “Yeah, it wasn’t bad.” Could have been better, would have been if he’d been able to manage his tires better on the entry to turn seven like his engineer had requested.

He yawns again, curls closer to Fernando so now he’s the one with his head tucked under Fernando’s chin. If they were still outside, still in their cars, the warmth rolling off Fernando would be unbearable. But the temperature of the hotel has been set to freezing, so his body is beginning to return to a stable level of self-regulation.

“Next time you will get around Perez.”

“He’s in a rocket ship, man. You want me to teleport to P3?” He mumbles against Fernando’s neck, eyes drifting shut, weight of his body sinking further into the mattress.

“Lawrence can hire people. Make that possible. He would invent this for you, I think.”

They both laugh, and then Fernando is rambling something about holding Sergio back next race, letting Lance take P3, and then P2 and then, impossibly, they both know, P1. It’s half in French, half in the bits of Spanish Lance is picking up but is too tired to follow, and then it trails off into nothing because Fernando finally lets the exhaustion win. Lance follows behind not long after.

When they wake in the morning it is to the ringing of Fernando’s phone, to the frantic texts buzzing through on Lance’s. They missed their flight, which means the morning sex isn’t rushed. It means that Lance gets to lay on his back, lazy and selfish, while Fernando teases him but continues to thrust with measured accuracy above him. He lets Fernando mark the skin at the nape of his neck as compensation for doing all the work, lets him suck at the soft skin there until Lance is sure the hickey will take a while to fade.

And maybe Singapore isn’t that bad after all. Despite the heat. Lance thinks he could justify the humidity like he does for Miami, if P4, senseless late night talks, and Fernando’s smile when Lance pants his name are the reward for enduring the climate. It all feels worth it in the end.

#strollonso #strollonso fic #my fic #I once again ask #is this even anything?#at this point I think I write about them just to senselessly ramble #idk if this is even good tbh

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babydollmarauders · 1 year

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VANCOUVER — QUINN HUGHES

quinn hughes x fem! platonic! reader

pt 2 to Babe

summary: in which Quinn comforts y/n after she and Jack break up.

warnings: mentions of cheating, ex boyfriend Jack, light profanity

notes: if you like this, you should check out @jackhues Mockingbird AU! Naqia has an entire AU (that you can send requests for) based around being Jack’s girlfriend that has Quinn as a big brother figure and it’s AMAZING!

the eight hour flight to Vancouver felt like a lifetime, but when i felt the plane land on the runway, i feel more relieved than ever. i didn’t want look like the crazy person, crying on the plane, so i held it all in while i was in the air. mostly. there were a few times that i had some lone tears escape, but for the most part, i was just glad i didn’t have anyone sat next to me.

i follow the single file line off the plane, and make my way to baggage claim, where i caught sight of Quinn waiting for me. he spots me and sends me a pitiful smile, meeting me halfway, and that’s all it takes for me to breakdown, finally letting my tears fall. i fall into his open arms, letting him hold me in the middle of the airport.

“shhh. that’s it, let it out, y/n/n.” he shushes me, whispering comforting words in my ear. “it’ll be okay. you’re gonna be okay. i promise.”

we stand there for a few minutes, him holding me as i cry into his shirt. in Jack and i’s three year relationship, i grew quite close to Quinn. having never had any siblings of my own, and having parents who were more strict than comforting and protective, the Hughes became almost like a replacement family for me. but Quinn is who i’ve been closest with, him taking me under his wing and giving me advice when i need it. so it’s reassuring to know that i’ll still have him to lean on even though jack and i are no longer together.

once the baggage carousel starts moving, i’m easily able to spot my suitcase as one of the first few and Quinn grabs it for me. slinging an arm over my shoulder protectively, he leads me out to the parking garage. finding his car quickly, he puts my suitcase in his trunk and opens the passenger door for me before jogging around the vehicle to his drivers seat.

“let’s go back to mine and i’ll show you to your room. then you can talk to me if you want, but i’m not gonna push you to open up to me if you aren’t ready.” he says, switching the car into reverse and looking over his shoulder to back out of the parking space. i just nod in response.

the drive to Quinn’s isn’t too long, but my tired state makes it feel longer than the twenty minutes that it actually is. i wasn’t able to sleep on the plane, too busy thinking, and the fact that i left abruptly at night means it’s been way too long since i’ve actually slept. Quinn walks me into his apartment, leading straight to his guest bedroom.

“thank you, Quinn. you don’t understand how much this means to me. i don’t have anyone else in Jersey and i- i didn’t know where else to go.” my voice breaks and i stutter over my words as i turn to look at him in the doorway.

“i’m always here for you, you don’t need to thank me. you can stay here for as long as you want, y/n/n.” he pushes off from his spot leaned against the door jamb. “i’ll let you unpack and get settled.”

he closes his door on the way out and i turn back to my suitcase that sits on the bed, unzipping it and pulling out clothes and various other things i packed in my rush away from Jack. once i finish unpacking, i lay on my side on the bed, on top of the covers. i’ll just close my eyes for a second, then i’ll go talk to Quinn.

i wake up with a startle, my face wet with tears and my mouth dry. i don’t even remember falling asleep. my dream was a montage of fictional moments, imagery of Jack sleeping with faceless women and then coming home to me, cuddling up to me and telling me he loves me, all while i was aware it was happening but unable to leave him. i guess not all of it was fictional, because the last part did happen, i just wasn’t aware of his secret rendezvous.

i drag myself up from the bed, looking around for a moment in confusion before i remember where i am. Quinn. i leave the room, padding down the hallway to the living room, finding Quinn sprawled across his couch, watching tv. at the sound of my footsteps, he looks towards me and sits up.

“hey. i checked on you a few hours ago but you were asleep. i figured i’d let you get some rest.” he tells me.

“thanks.” my voice is raspy from my sleep and my eyes are still adjusting to the light shining in from his open windows.

“how ya feelin’?” he asks, getting up from the couch and walking over to the kitchen. i follow him and watch as he gets a cup down from a cabinet and fills it with water from a brita pitcher in the fridge.

“like i just found out my boyfriend cheated on me multiple times throughout our relationship and then took an eight hour plane ride to another country.” i shrug. Quinn looks over at me with wide eyes, and in the absence of his sight, the water overfills and spills over the side of the cup, running over his hand.

“shit.” he puts the pitcher down, pouring a little bit of the water from the cup down the sink and using a dish towel to dry the outside of the cup before handing it to me and then drying off the counter. “multiple times? i thought it was just the once? which, obviously is still bad but… multiple times?”

“i thought so too. but he confessed before i left. he said it wasn’t the first time he’s gotten with someone else.” i take a sip of the water and then sigh as fresh tears cling to my lashes. “god, what is wrong with me, Q? why has every guy i’ve ever been with, cheated on me? am i not good enough? do i not satisfy them? am i not pretty? i don’t understand.”

Quinn sets the towel down and steps in front of me, placing my cup on the counter and taking a hold of my face, forcing me to look him in the eyes.

“there is nothing wrong with you, y/n. i don’t ever want you to think that this is your fault and not the man’s. he’s the one who fucked up. not you. you were loyal, you’re kind, you were supportive, Jack is the one who took advantage of you. and you’re gorgeous, so i don’t want to hear that you ever think that was the problem. the problem is him.” his tone is harsh and assertive, contradictory to his sweet words. “do you understand?”

i nod and he lets go of my face, pulling me into his chest for a tight hug. my tears wet his shirt as i sob into his chest for the second time in the past twenty-four hours.

“i know you’re hurting, and it doesn’t feel like it now but, you’ll be okay. i promise. and one day you’re gonna find someone who will treat you the way you deserve to be treated. do i wish that could’ve been my brother for you? yes. but, unfortunately it wasn’t. and i just want you to remember that just because he wasn’t your endgame, doesn’t mean i care about you any less. you’re my little sister now. blood, legally, or honorary, you’re my sister and i’m here for you.”

his kind words only serve to switch my tears from sad ones to grateful ones. when Jack and i started dating, i had no expectations to grow close with his family. it had never happened with any of my previous boyfriends families. but the Hughes family members have always been so kind and supportive; letting me stay with them when my own parents kicked me out the day after my eighteenth birthday, throwing me a birthday party each year, Ellen teaching me how to sew, Luke coming to me for girl advice. it makes me look at Jack and i’s relationship in a new light. instead of wishing i had never met him, i’m grateful i had, because if it weren’t for him, i wouldn’t have his family. and more importantly, i wouldn’t have Quinn. my honorary big brother.

“thank you.” i sniffle as my tears finally come to an end twenty minutes later. by now we’ve moved to the couch and Quinn holds a box of tissues in his hands.

“you don’t need to thank me. it’s what i’m here for.” he smiles softly. his phone starts buzzing on the side table next to me and i reach for it, meaning to hand it to him, but i freeze up when i see Jack’s name on the screen, his contact picture being on of the two of us at the lake house. Quinn gently takes the phone from my grasp and i watch as his face slowly morphs into one of anger when he sees who’s calling him. before i can ask him not to take the call right now, he taps his finger over the ‘accept’ button.

“what the fuck do you want?” he asks sharply, holding the phone up to his ear. i can’t hear what Jack says but Quinn quickly shakes his head. “no.”

i give him a confused look and he holds up a finger, signaling to give him a minute. i sink back into the couch and curl my legs up to my chest as i watch him speak to my ex.

“no. Jack, i said no. you’re not talking to her. i don’t even know how you know she’s here, but if she isn’t answering your calls then you should take that as a fucking sign: she doesn’t want to speak to you.”

calls? what calls?

i pat my pockets for my phone, but realize i must’ve left it in the guest room. i rise to my feet and Quinn looks at me with a raised brow.

“be right back.” i mouth. i walk to the guest room, finding my phone laying on the bedside table, still plugged in from before i laid down a few hours ago. i pick it up and the screen comes to life, showing multiple unread texts from Jack and several missed calls. i swipe the calls away and skim through the texts, all being some variation of ‘i’m sorry’ and ‘can we please just talk?’. opening the instagram app, i take a few moments to delete every picture i have of or with him from my profile, including the post from yesterday. unplugging my phone and slipping it into my pocket, i walk back out to the living room.

“you’re not fucking listening to me. i don’t care how sorry you are, i won’t even let her think about getting back together with you. you fucked up, Jack. i’m done talking about this.” Quinn hangs up the phone as i walk back in, taking my seat back on the couch.

“i know you keep telling me to stop saying thank you but seriously, thank you, Quinny. you didn’t have to do that.” i say my words quietly, and he remains quiet for a second before he finally speaks up.

“any time, y/n/n. i mean it.” he smiles softly and then nudges my shoulder. “how about we order some take out and watch John Tucker Must Die? what do ya say?”

“i say…” i leave him hanging for a second before smiling back. “chinese food or pizza?”

“that’s my girl.” he slings an arm around me, tugging me into his side. he grabs the remote, switching over to a streaming service, and i pull out my phone to send one quick text before powering it off.

—

To: Jack 🤍

we’re not getting back together. but i’m grateful for your family and i don’t want to lose them just because we’re no longer dating, so i’m willing to be civil with you, if you’ll accept that.

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x reader #platonic quinn hughes #nhl imagine #nhl fic #faithlynn’s writings <3 #babydollmarauders

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h4venpha · 11 months

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↳ 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐗𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐘 — chigiri hyoma

THE FAN FAV MR CHIGIRI HYOMAA!! hes a lil angry but its ok (i just want him to press me against a wall)

“i told you to wait outside,” chigiri scolds you as he picks up his practice shorts from the tiled ground, still a little wet from the shower he took.

“you were taking too long,” you state plainly and lean against the dry wall, opposite of the showers. “plus it’s not like its my first time being in the boys’ lockers.” obviously against chigiri’s word, you would sometimes come in during his shower or when he’s changing out of his sweaty practice clothes, simply bored of waiting outside for him.

“that doesn’t mean you can just come in here whenever you want.” he shoots back with a glare, a hint of attitude in his words. he shoves his shorts into his backpack, urgent to leave before someone sees you with him.

“you take so long to shower anyway, no one’s here this late but me and you.” you shrug and ignore his glare, knowing there’s no heat behind it.

“okay but this is not going to become a thing, got it?” chigiri mumbles as he drapes the towel over his shoulder, he would much rather blow dry it but he has to wait til he gets home. he scoffs and accepts the water droplets dripping down, soaking onto his shirt.

you push yourself off the wall to grab his bag and zip it up for him. holding it out for him, you let him take one strap and sling it over his shoulder.

“fine, whatever…” you roll your eyes and shrug it off. you walk towards the exit, a silent motion for him to follow. and he does, righting his bag on his back.

just as chigiri begins to fall into step by your side, the door to the locker room swings open. before you even realize what’s happening, you’re being pulled into the closest shower stall, the rapid sound of the curtain hoops scraping open and closed. the dry wall behind you as you’re being roughly pressed into it. a firm hand on your hip holding you still while the other covers your mouth from making a single noise.

slowly peeling your eyes open, your breath gets caught in your throat because god wow—he’s so close. you can see the smooth skin on his cheeks and the small water droplets clinging onto the ends of his eyelashes. his brows furrowed as he listens to the others walking past the showers, his breathing shallow and still, like if he inhaled too loudly they would catch you.

after a moment of intent listening, chigiri turns and glares at you once more. eyes deadpanning: ‘this is exactly why i told you to stay outside’. but you can’t even bring yourself to feel sorry when hes so, so close. of course it’s not the first time he’s been this close, but the risk of being caught heightened all sensations. having his mouth hovering just mere inches away from yours, his breath warm against your face, the way his eyes flicker down to your parted lips for a split second.

chigiri rolls his eyes and turns his head to hear them better, too ticked off to look at you. but its not even registering in your head because oh— his jawline from this angle. his silky wet hair sticking to his face as it drips down onto your own shirt, the fiery, intense look in his eyes, his hand gripping you tightly.

after what feels like forever, they leave and the door clicks shut behind them. only then does chigiri back off, removing his hands off your figure and your mouth. but he doesn’t move away.

“see what you did?” he states plainly, his voice smooth and low in your ears. you nod silently, still a little under his spell, feeling the urge to pull him back in and press your lips against his. and you’re staring again with your mouth parted. and he notices. he chuckles, his tone softening.

“and next time you’ll stay outside when i tell you, yea?” you nod eagerly again, just barely registering the words coming out of his mouth. and he knows, he knows you’re looking. moving in for a fraction of a second, he plants a soft kiss on your cheek, the tips of his wet hair brushing against your shoulder, before he takes your hand in his.

when he pulls you out of the bathroom, there’s a small smile on his face. sure he’s still a little angry you, but theres always something in the way you look at him that makes him crumble. feeling your eyes linger on every feature on his face, it does something to him. so he’ll forgive you just this once.

#h4venpha #chigiri hyoma #blue lock chigiri #bllk chigiri #chigiri #chigiri x you #chigiri x y/n #chigiri x reader #chigiri scenarios #chigiri imagines #blue lock fluff #chigiri fluff #bllk fluff #bllk x y/n #bllk x reader #bllk x you #bllk scenarios #chigiri hyoma x you #chigiri hyoma x reader

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umbra-mayhem · 28 days

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Fools in the Rain

Ghost is spending the fourth night of his leave alone in his apartment, whittling mindlessly while an old sitcom plays in the background. A storm rages outside, so loud that when Ghost hears the knock at his door, he almost mistakes it for thunder. His head raises slowly as the realization dawns upon him that the sound was in fact a knock….and that he wasn’t expecting company. He’s never expecting company. He’s never even had company. Wouldn’t know what to do with company. Doesn’t enjoy company.

So something must be wrong.

He rises slowly…silently….his hand reaching for one of the many guns he keeps tucked around his apartment. Another knock, louder than the first, confirms his suspicions and spurs him to quicker movements. He dashes to the door, taking a breath before peering through the peephole.

Soap is standing on the other side, shifting his weight back and forth under the small awning as his heart races. Despite his body being drenched by the rain, he can still feel sweat creeping down his back and pooling in his palms. Sweat just has that distinctive feel.

Ghost unlocks the deadbolt and opens the door as far as the chain lock will allow. He eyes Soap as he demands over the cacophonous rain, “What’re you doing here, Soap?”

Soap’s eyes shoot up as Ghost cracks open the door. The rain, unfortunately, had not reached the confines of Soap’s mouth, leaving his tongue dry and his voice cracked. He swallows nothing and admits, “….I haven’t been able to sleep in days. Ever since we started leave…I’ve been….plagued….haunted with thoughts….they’re there when I’m awake, there when I try to sleep….”

A stone settles in the depths of Ghost’s stomach. He stares at the soaked man for what feels like an eternity, swimming in Soap’s bloodshot eyes as he searches for answers he has no idea how to find. Thankfully, Soap continues:

“I consider myself a strong man, Ghost. I’ve suffered things no person should experience. I’ve been beaten and shot, held hostage and interrogated and tortured. But this….this is a torture I cannot endure…..”

The desperation in Soap’s voice, the utter weakness in his shaking frame…it chills Ghost to his core.

“I can’t stop thinking about you. What you’re doing. Where you are. How you’re feeling. I-I keep worrying. I feel like every nerve is on fire when I’m not near you, I—”

His words die in his mouth as Ghost abruptly closes the door. Soap can’t help the tears that instantly well in his eyes. Tears that proceed to fall upon his rain-soaked cheeks as the door remains closed. In his stunned state, Soap can’t even raise a hand to wipe them away as they tickle his face, mocking him for thinking that this was ever a good idea.

Meanwhile, Ghost is on the other side of the door, his mind even more tumultuous than the storm outside. He places his gun down on whatever surface is closest. He paces as hopeful thoughts bubble up to the surface of his consciousness; he shakes his head with the rise of each one, hoping to quell them.

It doesn’t work.

Soap is frozen, tears no longer trickling. No, now they’re a steady stream. His mouth opens and closes like a fish drowning in open air. He hopes maybe he’ll be rewarded for his foolishness with a strike of lightning—something to end the pain coursing through him, leaving him breathless and yearning for death.

Ghost tears off his balaclava and tosses it aside. As he paces, he runs his hands through his hair, feeling the tremble of his fingers against his scalp. And then, before he even realizes what he’s doing, he unlocks the chain lock and yanks open the door.

The sight of the state he’s left Soap in is worse than any bullet, Ghost thinks. The two men stare at each other, stunned by the sight of the other. Ghost knows he has to move, to speak, to do something. Soap has left himself bare, disemboweled himself and placed his guts at Ghost’s doorstep. So he has to do something.

Ghost takes a step forward through the doorway. Soap takes a step back, mistaking Ghost’s intense gaze and advancement as a sign of aggression. Ghost takes another step forward, and Soap responds with another step back, leaving the shelter of the awning and walking backwards into the rain. As Ghost takes yet another step forward, he reaches out and cups Soap’s face, freezing him in place once more.

Ghost draws into Soap, bringing his other hand up to mirror the first. He brushes his thumbs over Soap’s cheeks, determined to wipe away the tears before the rain does. To somehow fix what he’s done.

Words have always been special to Ghost. He doesn’t speak much not because he doesn’t like to, but because he wants what he says to convey exactly what he means. Ghost handles his speech like a knife, knowing that with his words he carves in ways that can either create or destroy. He plans what he says carefully, steeping his thoughts like tea before pouring them from his mouth:

“I am a fool…for ever letting you feel the way you feel now…forgive me, please…”

Soap blinks the concoction of rain and tears from his eyes. He slowly raises his hands and grasps Ghost’s wrists, holding them like they’re a buoy. But for once in his life, he stays silent, much to Ghost’s distress.

“Please, Johnny…please say something….”

The sound of Ghost’s voice, as warbled and watery as the puddle drenching their feet, stirs Johnny to speak. The corners of his teary eyes crinkle as he smiles through his words, “You are a fool…but you’re my fool…isn’t that right, Simon?”

Simon chokes back a sudden sob and nods, pulling a laugh of relief from Johnny. He leans his forehead against Simon’s, tightening his grip on the man’s wrists.

Simon wrangles together his nerves and forces himself to be brave. “Can this fool kiss you?” he asks, the surprising sweetness in his voice melting Johnny like candy floss in water. He nods and Simon softly presses his lips against Johnny’s, tasting tears and rain.

#cod #cod fanfic #call of duty #call of duty fanfic #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #ghost x soap #soap x ghost #ghoap #ghoap fanfic #i’ve never played cod #i know cod is military propaganda but goddamn i cant get these men out of my head #goose is honking

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mapofthemazeinthemirror · 6 months

Text

𝐁𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 - 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐢 𝐘𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐧

royal reader x royal guard Yeonjun

Warnings: descriptions of punishment that are akin to torture, mentions of wounds, I think that’s all but please let me know if not!

Note: This is kinda all over the place and not much happens really but it’s something to read? I've been sitting on this since February and I just want it out of my drafts lol. Inspired by a scene from my favourite book series.

Word count: 833

It had been somewhat of an ordeal to be standing on the outside of the castle gates this night. It had involved sending the personal guards posted outside your bedroom on a wild goose chance for invisible intruders and outsmarting the watchers who patrolled the great gates. You had gone to a lot of trouble to leave the castle walls, but with urgent cause.

The night was chilly, the freshly fallen snow covering everything in a layer of white that glowed in the moonlight. Beneath your cloak, however, you were stiflingly warm, with both the stress of your mission and the pace you had set, though your heart was pounding at a much quicker speed than your boots on the cobblestones. There were few people on the street at this late hour, but you did not wish to attract the attention of those that were—you would surely be recognised if anybody stopped you to enquire of an emergency.

Once you had passed the light of the tavern and slipped into an alleyway, you felt assured you were safe from curious eyes and broke into an almost run, careful still of the frosty surface beneath your feet. You weren't all that concerned with your own safety at this time, but still aware that if you were to slip and break, say, your neck, your little expedition would not go unnoticed.

As the alley came to an end beside the baker's shop on the corner of the square, the scene unfolded before you just as you had imagined it. Still, it stole your breath more than the exertion and the cold air combined. In the center of the square, on one knee, arms shackled outstretched above his head like a bird's wings prepared for flight, was your oldest companion and object of your heart.

You had grown up beside Yeonjun; your fathers were the closest of friends and he had been the only other child inside the castle walls. The two of you had shared everything, been there for each other through everything - from the death of your mother to the the loss of his father, from his initiation into the royal guard as he followed in his father's footsteps, to your father marrying again and, most recently, his death. Yeonjun was the only person you knew was a genuine friend. He never asked anything of you, always told you what he really thought, only ever saw you for who you were. There were no pretences.

As you approached him your concern grew stronger. His raven hair hung in his face, his head drooped low against his chest. His shirt, too thin to be of any use against the dropping temperature, was stained with blood and torn in places, revealing shredded skin. The evidence of his punishment, forty-eight hours of penance in the square and one hundred lashings. Your mouth grew dry at the realisation that these were only the injuries you could see; most of the lashings would have been delivered to his back.

At the sound of your footsteps, he stirred, his head lolling to the side to see who might be coming—his punisher or a sympathizer. You lowered your hood, and it seemed to take a few moments before he recognized you—or maybe that you were really here—having gone without food for so long and likely being in a great deal of pain. His arms, which had been shaking, suddenly stopped. You knew he was trying to protect you from seeing the state he was in.

Yeonjun's eyes focused as you stood in front of him, and you could tell that his lips had been bitten right through; blood glossed the otherwise dry skin, and you imagined they weren't only dry from from the cold air but from panting and gasping with pain. He looked pale even in the soft glow of the warm lamps that lit the square. You knelt so he wouldn't have to strain his neck any further to look at you. His breath came out in a fog as your heart wrenched. This was just one more thing the queen had done to break you.

“I thought I might see you here,” his voice was gravelly, not the one you were used to. This was the most ragged you’d ever seen him. "Though I had hoped I wouldn't. You shouldn't be out here alone—"

"I'm in better shape than you," you quipped, trying to lighten than the mood. He always put your wellbeing above his, but in this situation you couldn't bear to hear it.

He tutted, but his eyes looked a little brighter. “You always are. Where’s your new guard?”

“I outwitted him,” you replied, proudly.

Yeonjun scoffed. “I knew I should have gotten the job. You’ve never been able to outsmart me.” It was good to see that in this condition he still had his good humoured nature about him.

Your mouth twitched with a smirk before you changed the mood with solemn words. "I would've been there. I tried to come to the trial as soon as I heard, but Stepmother had me barred.” You watched as Yeonjun awkwardly tried to bring his other leg forward to take his weight, noticing the holes that had formed in the knees of his pants from kneeling all day. "I tried to talk to her but—“

Yeonjun’s eyes flashed with worry. “You need to be careful around her."

"I know," you said quietly, looking away from his eyes while trying not to look at his wounds. “What did she sentence you for? Nobody would tell me.”

“I spoke against your betrothal," he sighed, more fog filling the air between you. Your eyes met his again hearing this. “I thought I was in good company, but I guess even friends can betray you for the chance of earning the queen's favour." Now he was the one to look away. “Forgive me, princess."

"There's nothing to forgive. You know how I feel about him.” Glancing around to check there was no one close by, you placed your hand on Yeonjun's knee. It was freezing and the skin that peeked out through the ripped fabric was almost at breaking point. You wished you could have brought something, even just a blanket or some food, but coming here was a risk in itself. It was more than likely that if anyone helped him in any way, Yeonjun would be the one punished for it.

"I was gone for some days. I knew there was a chance that…”

Your hand gently patted above his knee. “I’m still as indifferent about him as when you left." A hint of a grin flickered in the comer of his mouth.

Yeonjun had been chosen by the king, your father, to be one of the guards to escort his coffin to the royal crypt. Your father had always had his own love for Yeonjun, as if he was the son he never had. He was favoured among the guard, and the other men knew it. They also knew he held your favour.

Your stepmother, the queen, on the other hand, held no affection for him. With your father gone you were her bargaining chip to forge alliances with. You would marry whoever she saw fit, whoever offered the most advantageous union. It was clear she held no love for you, either. But of course, your heart belonged to Yeonjun. You were certain he knew, deep down. Sometimes you were sure he felt the same. But then he would switch to his professional persona, completely change his demeanour and leave you second guessing yourself.

“We should both be more careful,” you thought aloud.

You realised his arms had begun to shake with the strain again and you wished you could do something, anything, to soothe him. You wanted to reach for him further, but you thought better of it.

"Yes," his voice was serious again now. “You shouldn't be alone with a man, especially at night."

A burst of laughter broke from you and you spotted a flash of the whites of his teeth. “You’re not a man, you’re the boy I’ve spent my whole life with. Besides, what are you going to do? You can't move your arms.”

“You always aim for the low hanging fruit,” he chuckled.

A rush of wind came, causing Yeonjun to tense and wince, closing his eyes tightly. You moved your hand from him, afraid of adding to his struggles. "Is it unbearable?”

He looked up at you under the tips of hair that the wind had tousled into his eyes. "Not while you're here."

The sound of laughter came from a nearby establishment as the door opened, capturing both your attention. The light that spilled out from inside was warm and inviting, and you turned to see your dearest friend’s eyes laden with longing, probably picturing the blazing fire in the hearth, as were you.

You looked up at the long board that held his wrists in shackles. You had seen it before, of course; it was a permanent fixture in the square since your father had married that terrible woman and submitted to her views on punishment. Perhaps these punishments had never been necessary before she became queen, as nobody had ever had any treasonous feelings towards your mother or father, and neither of them were the kind to use torture as a method of penalty. You had never attended these new dealings of punishment, always scheduling your tutor at the same time to be in order to avoid being made to go. Thus, this was your first time seeing a person in this position. “I wish I could get you out of here.”

Coughing brought you from your thoughts, racking Yeonjun’s exhausted frame. “Only, what? Thirty-six hours to go? I’ll survive.”

“You’d better,” you quipped, doing your best to keep the worry from your voice as you felt you needed to keep up with his humour to help him through.

“Was it terribly boring without me?” The question was delivered with a hint of mischief.

“Oh yes,” you looked away casually. “There’s been no excitement whatsoever. Except the queen making plans for celebrations we can’t afford and firing staff who have worked in the palace since before I was born.”

Yeonjun wasn’t only trembling from the stretch of his position but also the cold of the night; his breathing beginning to shudder harshly. The thought came to you—the only thing you could do. Grabbing the ends of your cloak between your fingers, you knelt up to wrap your arms around his neck and pulled yourself in close to him.

“What’s this?” he asked, voice sounding both caught off guard and tired.

“Body heat,” you replied. You were thankful he couldn’t see your face as you said it. This was the closest you had ever been to each other, pressed so flush together this way.

He hesitated for a second before dropping his chin to your shoulder. You heard him sigh, before playing it off as a cough, ever the stubborn one. “You’re so warm.”

It was obvious that he wasn’t putting much of his weight on you, though he probably needed the relief after holding himself up like that all day, still on bent knee for the queen long after she’d gone back to the castle and gone about her day.

“I would stay with you all night if I could.”

Though the words had not passed between the two of you, you were certain he knew how you felt. Sometimes you were sure he felt the same way; adoring eyes and inside jokes, a hand lingering on your own longer than it took for you to step down from a carriage after your father had lead ahead. But then doubt always whispered in your mind. Could these not be the feelings of a close friend? A brother to a sister? A subject to royalty?

“I’m sure a princess has better things to do,” He teased over your shoulder. Suddenly his body tensed slightly against you. He pulled himself away from you, breaking the circle of your arms around his neck. “You’ve got company.”

You followed Yeonjun’s eyes to see the man who was now named your guard entering the square, the cloak of those in service to the queen recognisable even in the dimness of the moonlight. “Drat.” It took quite an effort not to roll your eyes as you turned back to your friend with a regretful air. “I’ll come back tomorrow night.”

“I don’t want you getting in trouble.” His eyes, full of sincerity but with that familiar sharpness that conveyed he really meant it, followed yours as you stood.

You wanted to make a joke, but you couldn't find it in yourself to lighten the mood at this moment. Instead, you simply nodded your head to show you understood, making no promises. Then you steeled yourself, gathering the strength to hold a neutral demeanour as you head towards the guard who would lead you back to the castle, hoping against hope that your stepmother had not been informed that you had been out of its walls. She would know without questioning that you had been to see Yeonjun. You didn’t let yourself look back as you left the square, though every part of you begged for you to turn around just once.

Back in the castle, guards posted outside your door, you couldn’t rid yourself of the shivers that wracked you. It wasn’t the cold—your chamber was still toasty from the fire the attendants had set earlier in the evening, still crackling gently at this hour—but the reality of the situation that weighed heavily on you after your outing. Looking around the room you were engulfed by an emotion you could not name—anger, guilt, sorrow?—on finding yourself amongst warmth and luxuries while he endured the bitter cold and harsh penalty beyond these walls.

Maybe the queen could sleep soundly tonight, but you would not. You couldn’t face the bed, the sight of the plush blankets and pillows tightening the ache in your chest that had only intensified with your visit. Shaky hands untying the cloak around your shoulders, you set yourself down on the floor, pulling it over your frame as you stretched out, your arm the only semblance of a pillow. The cloak was still wet where it had dragged through the fresh snow, but you didn’t care. Staring vacantly into the glow of the fireplace, your mind replayed what you had seen. You couldn’t help but feel that this was only the beginning of your troubles, as if you were on the precipice of something you were set to fall from. You would not let your stepmother take Yeonjun down with you.

written by mapofthemazeinthemirror - do not repost my work in any form

#txt imagines #txt scenarios #yeonjun imagines #txt sfw #txt fantasy au #yeonjun scenario #yeonjin fic #yeonjun fanfiction #txt fanfiction #txt fanfic #txt drabbles #yeonjun drabbles #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun x yn #txt x reader #txt x yn

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mapofthesea · 2 years

Text

gilded morning

ot7 x reader but Yoongi focus, domestic!bts I suppose, y/n is fem

genre: smut, lil bit of fluff

an: the Yoongi spit kink/being ot7 was all in my dream the rest I filled in bc I could not stop thinking about how the dream might have ended if my cat didn't wake me up :/

content warnings: making out, grinding/dry humping, hair pulling, spit kink, edging, fem fingering, Yoongi gets possessive in a very lowkey way, technically public sex (they’e in the living room but no one else directly is) bratty sub!reader x Dom!yoongi, Yoongi likes to play with readers tits, good old fucking (p in v), unprotected sex (dont do this),dirty talk, mentions of pretty light subspace, aftercare, Yoongi is worried he literally broke your back, (playfully) jealous maknae line.

A dense, warm arm presses over your chest, cushioning you against a solid body. The feeling is comforting, almost more so than the buttery soft sheets underneath your back. You can’t quite remember which one of your boyfriends you ended up falling asleep with last night, but the heat radiating off of him had you snuggling into him further. Your neck is titled at a weird angle but it’s not enough to bother you yet, just simply enjoying the closeness for a few more moments. Having just left the grips of sleep, it takes a few minutes for your brain to catch up to the feeling and realize that the arm belongs to Namjoon, who is snoring on without a care in the world. You would love nothing more than to spend the rest of the morning wrapped up with him but the incessant urge to pee is enough to get you slithering out from underneath his arm. His dark eyebrows furrow at the movement but he must be too sleepy to get up, as he simply clutches the sheets where your body had just been. You land a kiss to his forehead before skittering off into the closest bathroom in the house with a silent promise to be right back.

Hoseok is already there, occupying space in front of the mirror with a hand tugging through his sleep-mussed hair. Lean torso on display and sweatpants riding low on his hips, he turns around once he spots you in the mirror and immediately wraps you in his arms. He ruffles the hair at the crown of your head out of habit-a relic of the time where you still all insisted you were just good friends- and traces nimble fingers down the back of your neck in a way that has your spine tingling. You momentarily forget about the pressure in your bladder and seek out his lips, kissing him languidly as you're both still in the process of waking up. It’s a slow, sweet kiss until Hoseok nips at your bottom lip, pulling a needy keen from your chest. He giggles, nose scrunching cutely as he scratches at the back of your scalp causing you to melt into the touch.

“Hobi, please,” you whine, although you don’t really know for what. The stirring in your stomach has grown more intense. He seems to know this as well as you do, if the teasing smile on his face means anything.

“I have to take a shower, baby, but Yoongi and Jin are in the living room,” his voice is low, making your stomach flip even as he detaches himself from your body and turns the shower on. Only slightly disappointed, you finally pee and wash your hands as he strips and steps in, steam already fogging the glass. You feel better now, lighter, but the stirring Hoseok started is still a quiet buzz as you head into the living room to seek out the other two who are awake.

Jin and Yoongi are sharing the loveseat with the console in the middle, which was often a point of contention for the fact that it made cuddling more difficult. Yoongi is asleep, reclined in the seat with his hands folded on top of his stomach. The sight makes you giggle, despite the increasing desire in your bones. Jin is reclined in a similar state but awake, watching something on his phone as you approach with no warning and plop yourself on top of him.

“Jinnie,” You immediately coo, burying your face into his neck and pressing a lingering kiss there. The video on his phone pauses and his arms wind around your body, hand immediately slipping underneath your shirt to rub up and down your back. His body is warm and solid beneath you, your legs on either side of his hips as you snuggle into him. Your hips rock against his and you feel his chest rumble with a low moan. The hand rubbing your back moves to clasp your hip, encouraging your movements as he meets you halfway, cock beginning to harden. He groans, plush lips parting in a filthy display as his hair splays against the headrest of the loveseat. You can’t resist the urge to nibble at his neck, emblazoned by the growing wetness between your legs.

“Baby...” Jin tries, voice strung out as you suck a bright red mark to the junction of his neck and shoulder. “Petal,” he tries again, firmer this time, tugging on your hair lightly to turn your attention his way. His grip on your hair has your eyes watering, mouth hanging open out of instinct. Your hips continue to wiggle against his own, the press of his cock right up against your slit making you feel dizzy even with the layers of fabric between you. Eyes finally leveled with his own, he heaves a sigh and shakes his head.

“Needy little baby, I’m sorry,” he begins, and you feel your heart stutter at his apology. Your pussy throbs in need as you stop grinding against him. He looks pained as he grabs for his phone and shows you the time. “I have an appointment at 11, baby. I have to go get ready.” His face scrunches at the idea, feeling just as disappointed as he knows you do. You let out a long, loud whine at the idea of being denied release from yet another one of your boyfriends. Jin softens, kissing your hairline, and wraps his arms around you to maneuver you into the seat he was previously occupying. You’re feeling stubborn, face flushed because you know you’re being childish but you just want to cling onto him for a few more minutes if you can.

Fingers drum over your back, and for a minute you think it’s Jin continuing to persuade him off of you, but then Yoongi’s gruff voice fills the space behind you and you know he’s awake. Your heart expands at least two sizes as you finally relinquish your hold on Jin and clamber over the console to sit in Yoongi’s lap. Jin kisses your cheek quickly before he goes, shooting a grin to Yoongi as you’re already starting to wiggle in the younger mans lap.

Yoongi’s eyes sparkle with mischief and you grin, feeling hot under his gaze. Wordlessly, his hands slip between your legs to feel the sticky mess between your legs. If he hadn't been the third one to wind you up, you might have been embarrassed, but the only thought in your mind now was a desperate need for relief.

“Yoongi, please,” your hips are moving over his hand without prompting, already knowing he was going to make you work for it. With your hands free, you plant them on his shoulders for better leverage. Sparks of pleasure rip through your stomach at the way Yoongi’s thumb circles your clit. Your head spins as a long needed release starts to approach under the work of his fingers, orgasm whispering its close proximity.

“Yoongi, I- I’m-” Cruelly, he yanks his hand away from you, ripping a strangled cry from your throat at the loss of sensation. It was far too early for him to play these kinds of games with you, but his cool expression told you you would be in for a long ass ride.

“Let’s get this off,” his instructions are simple as he rids you of your t-shirt before crawling his fingers down to the waistband of your shorts; pulling them down with your panties in one go. It’s a struggle to get them off of your legs because of your position, but Yoongi supports you around the middle as you lean back and throw the garments somewhere behind you. Yoongi is still fully dressed, black t-shirt just slightly disheveled.

“Off, please, Yoons,” you tug at the waist of his own shorts, frustrated at the lack of skin to skin contact.

“Hmm, needy baby this morning, y/n?” He teases, capturing both your wrists in one hand to stop your movement. You nod ferociously, hoping he would take pity on you. He just grins, a lazy, gummy smile that makes your veins thrum with anticipation. “Words, love, or I can’t give you what you want.”

“Please take off your shorts,” your voice is meek, worn out from the morning already.

“Why should I do that, love?” Yoongi was enjoying this, taking his time to tease you as you writhe naked and desperate in his lap. Frustration is making your brain muddled, and you whine pitifully as you rut your hips against the meat of his thigh. You briefly wonder how long he was awake while you were wrapped up in Jin, how long he had been plotting to make you suffer like this. Frustration turned into anger as he remained still under you, that cocky look on his face doing nothing but infuriating you when you were this needy and you can see the full outline of his cock just inches from where you need him.

“Fine. I’ll just go find Hobi.” You huff, wiggling your wrists out of his grasp and going to make your way off of his lap. Deceptively strong arms wind around your back, pulling you back down into his lap with strength that made your pussy throb. You still under his hold, slightly smug at the fact that that seemed to have struck a nerve with him. Seeing that you weren’t going to leave, Yoongi wasted no time to yank at your hair, sending a tingle of pain and pleasure across your scalp. As if your mouth hanging open wasn't enough of a giveaway, the rush of arousal that leaves you at the pull reveal just how much you like the pain. You can feel your resolve slip under his hold and Yoongi chuckles, leaning up so that he can whisper into your ear as his free hand creeps up to hold your chin.

“You and I both know he can’t give you what you want right now,” his fingers creep further up, curling around your bottom lip to hold your mouth open. Spit pools in the back of your throat and Yoongi tuts, nipping at the skin right underneath your ear as he continues to talk. “Isn’t that right, baby? I’m the only one that knows what you really want when you hang your pretty little mouth open like that, right? Everyone else thinks it’s fingers...” he licks at the shell of your ear, “or cock...” he pushes himself into you just right, allowing you to feel the full weight of his cock pressing into your now bare pussy. “But it’s none of that, is it baby?”

You try to swallow but his fingers keep your mouth open, trembling under his intensity. Another tug at your hair sends all thoughts of not answering out the window.

“Hmmmpf,” You slur around his hold, tongue running over the tips of his fingers as you finally choke out what he wants to hear. “Spit in my mouth.” You make out with surprising clarity, not that it mattered, since Yoongi knew exactly what you needed already. He was the only one you had ever admitted your little indulgence to. Not out of embarrassment, but mostly out of the fact that you had solid evidence he shared the same feelings.

Finally satisfied, he lets go of your lip and you take the moment to swallow as he lays the top half of your body over the console, just enough that you have somewhere to lay your head that allows him to hover over you. You feel triumphant when you see Yoongi take a deep shuddering breath to calm himself and stand up, shedding his clothes in one go. His cock stands to attention, thick and pale, as perfect as you remember it to be every time. You feel yourself go loose at the sight of it bobbing in the short few steps he makes over to you. Although the angle is a little weird, he situates himself over you on the loveseat, your thighs trapped under the weight of his pelvis as he leans over top of you. From this angle you can see all of his hair falling around him, the longer dark locks driving you near to insanity with just how perfect he is.

Two long fingers tap at your mouth and you open it obediently. Yoongi’s eyes darken and you can feel his cock jump against your stomach. The waiting is the worst, but soon a thick, translucent glob of spit is descending from his pretty pink lips and before you know it it’s landed in your own mouth. It’s warm and your eyes water at the feeling paired with the satisfied look on his face. You swallow, head spinning, and Yoongi leans down to give you a sloppy kiss, all spit and tongue and you love it so much that you almost miss the way he begins to swipe the head of his cock against your clit. You keen, trying to shift your hips enough that he can slip inside but Yoongi is far too busy with attacking your tits, lapping at one of your nipples and simultaneously pinching the other. You know that once he gets into a groove he’s hard to dissuade, so you let yourself enjoy the sensation of him sucking your nipples into hard peaks that he can play with to his hearts content.

“Yoons,” you gasp at a particularly hard bite. He smiles around you, eyes scrunching up mischievously as you squirm. In his moment of distraction you’re able to snake your hand between your bodies and wrap your hand around his cock, catching the pre-cum at the tip and dragging it down his impressive length. You love the way he feels under your touch, soft skin and pulsing veins that you cannot ever get enough of. He detaches from your chest, cursing loudly at the feeling as you work him faster.

“Fuck, baby, that feels so good,” he gasps, pushing his hair back off of his face, the sheen of sweat he’s worked up making him look ethereal above you. His jaw ticks as you palm at his balls and he growls, pushing your hands away from him as he heaves in a breath.

“Nuh uh, baby. M’ not cumming anywhere if it’s not inside you.” Your stomach flips at his words and before you even have time to beg, he’s pushing two fingers into you. His face shifts into one of concentration as he works you faster, scissoring his fingers for the sole purpose of stretching you open for his cock.

“Dunno how you're still so tight, baby. Every time,” he grunts, running a free finger over your clit experimentally. Immediately you’re keening, the feeling of his hands working you closer to the orgasm he denied you earlier making your toes curl. He crooks his fingers just a bit, keeping up his steady pace to abuse your g-spot. He’s so bulky, hovering over you as his arms flex and bend to bring you to the edge. Your walls clench around him and he groans, swearing to himself.

“Squeezing me so good, baby. Are you gonna cum on me? Get my fingers all wet? ‘S the only way you’re gonna get my cock in you. Come on, sweetie.”

“Yoongi, I’m gonna cum-” He simply nods, hair falling forward, and the small gesture he gives as he’s absolutely wrecking you sends you over the edge, cumming so hard your vision goes white. After an entire morning of being built up, the release makes you sag into the loveseat, body singing with relief. Yoongi marvels at the mess you made, groaning at the taste of you on his fingers as he slips them into his mouth and sucks them clean.

“Taste so good, baby.” He traces his hand down your side, grounding you with the gentle touch as you recover. When your senses come back to you, the sight of Yoongi’s cock stood at attention against his stomach, angry red at the tip, pushes you back into action. Your legs part to beckon him back in, and he sucks in a breath at the sight. He grasps his cock in his hand, stroking himself a few times before he refocuses on your face.

“Are you okay, baby? Sure you can take it?”

“Yes, Yoongi, please. Just fuck me already.” The whiny tone of your voice makes him chuckle as he leans back down, hand on his cock to help him guide into you.

“So mouthy, baby, what are we gonna do with you?” He coos and smothers you with a kiss as he begins to push into your pussy, the stretch familiar and welcome. You’re still sensitive from your last orgasm but desperate to have him inside of you as he’s finally sinking in. As you become too lost in the pleasure to return his kisses Yoongi resorts to laving at your neck, surely adding bites that will bruise by nightfall.

No matter how many times you took him or any of his bandmates, the stretch still took your breath away as he pushed himself in to the hilt. Yoongi groans at the feeling of your walls fluttering around him, balls snug against your ass as he adjusts to the warmth.

“You take me so well, baby. Fuck. You feel so fucking good.” A throaty groan fills the air as he plants his foot onto the couch and snaps his hips. Pleasure shoots through your stomach, the feeling of his cock dragging along your inner walls setting you alight. The slow pace is just enough to let any whispers of oversensitivity to disappear and leaves you quickly wanting more.

“Yoongi, ple-uh,” you stutter as he hits your gspot with perfect precision. You swallow thickly, trying to choke out your request. His hand grips your thigh tightly, squeezing the flesh as he continues to fuck into you. “Faster, Yoons,” you finally spit out the words and he heeds them immediately.

“Faster? Hmmm, needy,” he comments, readjusting his grip on your thigh to open you up more to his cock. His pace picks up immediately, the speed of his hips pushing you further up the console of the loveseat. Your hands flail, finding purchase on his wide, pale shoulders. A constant string of moans fall out of your mouth, which only spurs him on. Yoongi smirks, and without warning, leans down and spits directly onto your clit. Although you certainly didn’t need more lubrication, Yoongi knew exactly what the sight would do to you. He runs circles around your clit and you see stars.

“Holy shit, fuck. You’re so hot,” your voice cracks, in complete disbelief of his behavior. Your orgasm is fast approaching again, making your veins feel electric as Yoongi works over your clit relentlessly. Your walls clench around him erratically, and he smirks to himself at the feeling.

“Nasty little baby, clenching around my cock just because I spit on you.” He growls as he leans down, changing the angle of his hips to somehow be more punishing as tears escape without your permission.

“Awe baby, don’t cry.” He reaches for the wetness of your face, abandoning his grip on your thigh and wiping away the tracks. If it weren’t for his cock ruining you, causing the tears you could have chalked the moment up to sincere concern. Your stomach burns with anticipation, orgasm cresting so fast that you can barely warn him before it washes over you. You cum with a scream that doesn’t even sound like your own, all your worries washing away with it as you enjoy the floaty bliss. Yoongi grunts, chanting your name in a giveaway of his own high approaching without relinquishing his work on your clit.

“Couldn’t even tell me, oh fuck, that you had to cum, huh? So fucking good, baby, I’m gonna fill this cute little pussy right up for you,” Even in your hazy state you can tell he wanted to say more, had more nasty thoughts running through his head, but he cums before he can get to them. The hot feeling of his cum flooding your pussy makes you feel light headed again, body instinctively sparking in arousal again even as Yoongi stops his movements.

Yoongi slumps against you, spent and breathing heavy as he slowly drags his cock out of you. Disregarding the mess between your legs he goes right for you, dragging a calloused hand over the perimeter of your face as he starts to coax you back down.

“Hi, baby,” his breath fans across your face, a gentle reminder that he’s actually there, and a dopey smile stretches your lips as you start to come back to your senses. He kisses you deeply, sweetly. A kiss that has no intent other than to comfort and worship you as you recover from your morning.

“Yoongi,” you finally find your voice again, and although it’s hoarse, Yoongi responds in praises.

“We have to sit you up, baby, your back is probably sore.” He sounds apologetic, but you honestly hadn’t even noticed the twinge in your back until he began to pull you upward, into his lap. More of the mess between your legs leaks out and you whine, embarrassed by the feeling now that you’re mostly out of endorphins. Yoongi simply shushes you, holding your body close for the warmth he knows you’re craving. He speaks to you in slow, dulcet tones until you can finally respond with more than noncommittal hums, and carries you gingerly to the bathroom where the shower is already running. He washes you off under the hot stream, sharing giggles when he examines your back for any evidence of bruising or breakage. Yoongi pulls you to his room, shutting down protests from the youngest three boys about not getting to see you yet today, and settles you into his bed for a long overdue nap.

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sublimecatgalaxy · 1 year

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Him and I

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Wife!Reader

Summary: Daryl and his wife get separated at the fall of the prison but both manage to escape with another member of their crowd. After the reader and Glenn find Abraham and their group, almost after accepting they'll never find the rest of their families, they stumble in to Terminus. Will they be reunited or will the current state of the world impede them once more?

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol and drugs, violence, swearing, mentions of loss, feeling of anxiety/dread.

A/n: This fic is directly based on a request (that tumblr ate) by @bringinsexybackk69! I'm so sorry it took so long for me to get back to this, it's honestly just been so hard for me to write things that aren't blurbs and with the lack of TWD content, it's been dry over here. Thank you for your patience, I adore you! This is not entirely canon since my memory is faulty and I can't currently watch TWD so I'm going off of vibes and vague memory.

When we got to the prison, we thought it was going to be the end all, the place we could stay for as long as we chose to live, where we would raise children, form new bonds and relationships, just overall be safe and enjoy life.

But we thought the same thing about the farm and we all know what happened to that dream.

When the prison fell, I assumed that I would never see any of my family again, my closest friends, my husband. I woke up, alone, on the floor of the prison after Daryl shoved me in a cell and told me to stay put. It took nearly an hour for me to fight my way through walkers to get out into the air and that's when I saw the tanks and Hershel.

My heart broke.

When I found Glenn, I had a little bit of hope that we'd find people the longer we looked around the prison but the longer we looked, the less we found and the more dangerous it got. We were trapped and we couldn't wait around for people to show up. So we left.

"Glenn, where would Maggie go? If something happened, where would she go?" I ask Glenn frantically as we walk side by side, gun by gun, down the rural gravel path, my feet kicking frustratedly at stones with every step we take.

"I don't know, Y/n. We never thought we'd ever be away from each other ever again." Glenn is more frustrated than I am, jaw tense and fists clenched at his side. Without us, I'm convinced he wouldn't last, he's so emotional and gets so easily frustrated whereas I am the opposite.

Cool as a cucumber.

Just like Daryl taught me.

Daryl and I met at the farm.

I stumbled, quite literally, upon them with my arm bit and my whole body sore from carrying my own weight at least a mile or two. I'd say that our first impressions were kind and that we fell in love at first sight but it wasn't and we didn't. He, with the assistance of Hershel, chopped my arm off to prevent the infection from spreading and inevitably saved my life.

We were all shocked to see that it worked.

Daryl would take care of me, bring me things from the forest like little flowers that he claimed to remind him so much of me even though he'd joke that I'm nothing like a flower. He'd bring me food while I was resting in bed, he'd offer to take me on walks- overall, he was an angel and it was hard not to fall in love with him.

He'd tell you that he fell in love with me when I nearly fell in the well three weeks after my amputation.

Don't ask.

We were inseparable from then on in. He was my right hand man (pun so much intended) and he taught me everything I needed to know. I learned how to hunt with one hand, cook, skin animals, fend for myself because he always wanted me to feel and be capable if anything were to ever happen to him.

He's the most selfless, kind hearted, protective man I've ever had the pleasure of meeting.

When the farm was overtaken by walkers and we had to run, it was the first thing to really test mine and Daryl's relationship but also to test my lack of two arms. It was difficult for me to keep up and it was even more frustrating for Daryl to take care of me while saving the asses of everyone else.

"Are you good?" Daryl asks me, spinning around on his bike to look back at me with a worried expression, brows tugged firmly together in fear. He checks me out once, doing a once over to make sure I'm a-okay and when I nod, he loosens up a bit.

"I'm okay. Just a little spooked." I'm trembling like a leaf against him and he finally steps off his bike and moves to wrap his arms around me without another word.

He holds me tightly to his chest, cradling my head as softly as he can as tears flow freely from my eyes, my arm aching in a phantom pain from all the stress of wishing I was more capable, wishing Daryl didn't need to take care of and comfort me all the time.

"I got you, okay? I'm here."

When we found the rest of the group and found the prison, it was like we were drawn to it. We had to clear it out, we had to make it our own, make it safe. We had a baby on the way, Lori was nearly due and with the loss of a few of our people, we needed to regroup and have a place where we could just be.

But it fell, it went to hell, like everywhere else had since the world fell.

When we Glenn and I escaped, it wasn't exactly a match made in Heaven. We weren't the most compatible to work together, always bickering and fighting over the stupidest shit and ruining plans, just like siblings.

But after days and days of walking and arguing, we found Abraham and it was as if everything just got better. It was no longer the two of us and, after all those years of not seeing him, it was strangely nice to be reunited with him on the road.

"Abe?" The ginger's head snaps around at my voice, turning away from his two friends with wide eyes, gaze locking on mine as I grin ridiculously, my feet carrying me towards him without another word.

"Well holy shit, where did you come from?" He chuckles heartily and I feel tears springing behind the lids of my eyes. "I missed you, kid."

Abraham and I were stationed together in the Middle East for too long, learning the ins and outs of each other and becoming true best friends. When we went home, we kept in touch but when the world fell, we became a background thought in each other's minds.

So the fact that we found each other, a state away from where we grew up, it's still remarkable to this day.

Glenn and I felt better once we were with a group of people, especially since we were genuinely going to kill each other had we been stuck, just the two of us, for any longer. It was nice to meet Rosita and get to know her interesting relationship with my old friend, their oddly sexual relationship keeping the rest of us up in the middle of the night.

It made me miss Daryl, meeting all these new people- I had no one to judge people with. Glenn was no fun and always played devil's advocate and Abraham was who I wanted to judge. Daryl would've gladly sat with me and made me laugh while pointing out Rosita and Abraham's obnoxious issues with PDA or making fun of Eugene's mannerisms and nerves around Rosita.

It was alienating, how much I missed him.

My other half.

"Glenn, I don't know why you think Maggie would go to some random, probably overran 'survivalist' camp. But I think we have a better bet just wandering around looking for them." Abraham looks at me with a funny look, reaching out to shove at my shoulder as an attempt to get me to lay off Glenn but I just shake my head. I lean over Glenn's shoulder, looking at the ominous note that 'Maggie' left him and I can see the hope written on Glenn's face.

"I just have a feeling, you have to go with me on this." Glenn spins around on his heels, holding the note up in his hands with a stern, hopeful smile. "She left me a damn note, Y/n." I look back at Abraham, Rosita and Eugene and they all give me a simple shrug which forces a complaint sigh out of me.

"What you say goes."

Terminus obviously was not what we thought it was, tossed into train cars like animals and expected to turn over our weapons. Abraham called bullshit first, not daring to turn in his weapon before asking a few more questions but it was those few more questions that got us thrown into our makeshift jail in the first place.

I had accepted at that point that I would never see him ever again, that Daryl and I would never be reunited and never spend the rest of our lives together like we so desperately wanted to.

But when he stumbled into the train car two days later to my surprise, eyes falling on me and arms immediately tossing around me, it was shocking. I didn’t even think that he was real, the way his arms felt around me, after days of not having him near me- it was an out of body experience.

“Are you really here?” I ask, tucking my face in the crook of his neck, gripping onto the back of his shirt as if he’ll vanish from my grasp if I let him go even the slightest bit. He clings to me the same, hoisting me up into the air as I spot Abraham watching us with a proud smile on his lips that makes my stomach flutter with happy butterflies.

“I’m really here.” He whispers, rubbing my back soothingly as he sets me back down onto the floor, looking down at me with kind, protective eyes. “Fuck, I missed you.” His hands reach up, cupping my cheeks in his hands, ignoring the looks that everyone else in the car is giving us. “Where have you been?” He asks, finally taking a look around at the people around us with a relieved breath.

“With Glenn.” I huff, seeing Glenn, who has his arm around a relieved Maggie, sends me the finger from across the trai car.

“I’m so sorry.” Daryl mutters with a laugh, wrapping his arms around me again, tugging me to his chest with the plan of never letting me go.

“Never leave me alone again.”

"What're you thinkin' about?" Daryl’s voice snaps me out of my memories, my head turning to look at him as he sets a hand on my shoulder, a soft smile on his lips. "I can see the smoke comin' out of your ears." He teases with a wink, sitting down beside me on the log that I’ve plopped on and I lean into him, letting him wrap an arm around my shoulders.

"Thinking about when the prison fell. When we were apart."

"Why the hell're you thinking about that?" He asks, brows furrowing and a look of worry passes across his expression as he tugs me back into him, clinging to me once more just like the day that he found me. "Worst days of my life."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- Taglist: @bubblebuttwade @rafelover2405 @leslienjazzy @sorceresss @grxnde-dwt @alex–awesome–22 @bunnietoof @niyamar1e @serialghost @plantlungs @geniusohn @akaliltimmytim @lilaalouuxx @xshariex @elliotsbeigeguitar @elle4404 @lelieja @srhxpci @joselyn001 @taysirene @spinkspanther @thedivineuphoria @peter-maximoffs @tsukishimawhore @poohkie90 @szlaco @distantsighs @nstyles4299 @wolflover384 @givemefoodandlovesstuff @vane28282 @yeswhatever33 @amirrahfranson @vvaalleennttiinna @f-mu @yaspillz @jeyramarie @skylievin@abbybarnes17 @jointherebellion215 @visiondaddy @steezysimfinds @its-ya-gay-boi-luigi @crunchytoenailsyum@glizzymcguirex @beth123lg @melovesmut @rafecameronswhore @ariianelle @write-from-the heart @vampviolets@haylee-e @honee-chai-tea @lokiandbuckywife

@officiallyunofficialperson@heyaitsklaudia@rosepetalsparks @bluetreecloud20 @scenesofobx @double-shot-of-tequila @1dluver13xx @colbysbrocks @iamasimpingh0e @loveshineslikethesky @id-3-kbro @diorsitgirl @errorfound101-allideasburnedout @neverwillknowme18 @ellyskey @taylors-folk @loversjoy @myaloveee @thyris-is @lagataprrr @aaaaslaaaan @witxhy-lexx @minjix @luvroseee @tee-swizzle @savageneversaw @admiringlove @hysteriahall @piceous21 @starlightandfairies @igotmajordaddyissues @drewstarkey-wife1 @manyfandomsfanvergent @revesephemeres

#daryl x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #the walking dead fic

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cooliogirl101 · 6 months

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sayuri and tiny feral shen jiu!!! i am so interested in what their dynamics would be like

“What are you waiting for? Get rid of the girl already,” Wu Yanzi demanded impatiently.

Shen Jiu stiffened.

“There’s no need. She won’t tell anyone,” he answered, keeping his voice carefully even. “Shizun, the authorities will be here any moment. We should leave.”

“All the more reason to kill her quickly, then,” Wu Yanzi sneered. “She’s a witness and if you’re too stupid to see what a liability she is—”

The remainder of Wu Yanzi’s words would forever have to remain a mystery, however, because the next moment he was staggering back, both hands clutching the knife lodged in his throat, voice trailing off into a wet gurgle. Shen Jiu gaped, then whirled around to see Qiu Haitang standing up, apparently not unconscious after all, casually brushing the dirt off her clothes.

“Haitang,” Shen Jiu managed. His tongue felt slow and heavy inside his mouth.

“A-Jiu,” she returned. If she was at all bothered by the fact that she’d just killed someone (and he still couldn’t wrap his head around sweet, innocent, bright-eyed Tangtang taking a life), she didn’t show it. “I suppose I owe you a great deal for uncovering this scoundrel’s scheme and arriving in the nick of time to save my life. It’s unfortunate that the rest of the household didn’t make it but at least their souls can rest easy knowing their killer was caught and killed in the middle of executing his plan.”

She said all this very blandly, with about the same level of emotion as someone reading last month’s budgetary reports out loud. Shen Jiu vaguely wondered if he’d hit his head on his way out of the burning building.

“Haitang, I promise you, I wasn’t— this isn’t— I can explain. Your family—” He stuttered, stumbling over his words in his rush to get them out.

The look of absolute hatred that crossed Qiu Haitang’s face at that moment made the words dry up in Shen Jiu’s throat.

“They’re not my family,” she hissed, icy fury saturating every syllable. “My family would never have done the things they did.”

Shen Jiu swallowed.

“You knew.” All this time, he’d thought—

“A recent development,” she admitted, the coldness in her eyes receding and reverting to its prior emptiness.

“I never wanted you to be involved,” he stated, the closest thing to an apology he could bring himself to say. “I should go.”

“Don’t be a fool, A-Jiu,” Haitang huffed. “There are few ways to make yourself look more guilty than by fleeing from the scene of a crime.”

“But the authorities—”

“Haven’t we already established that you were the one to uncover that murderer’s plan and arrive just in time to save my life?” she said blandly. “You’re a hero, Xiao Jiu.”

“You can’t possibly believe that’ll work,” Shen Jiu said incredulously. There was no way it could be that easy. It couldn’t be that easy, could it?

“Lucky for us, the only other witness is in no state to provide a credible statement at this time,” Qiu Haitang said, aiming a rather vicious kick at Wu Yanzi’s corpse.

Shen Jiu looked at her for a long moment. All this time, he’d thought that she’d been the one person ignorant to his situation, blinded by her own naïveté and love towards her father and brother.

He didn’t know her at all, he realized with a faint note of wonderment.

“Why?” He asked, desperate to understand. Why give him an alibi? Why help him cover up the murders of her own family? Why help him?

She was quiet for a long moment.

“Because if I don’t have you, I don’t have anyone,” she said finally. “Isn’t that enough?”

Shen Jiu thought about Yue Qi and broken promises, about staying behind on a sinking ship long after he should have swam for safety, all for the tiny glimmer of a hope that he still had someone in this world who cared about him. Who would come back for him.

“Yes, I suppose it is,” he answered.

#tlm!au #murder cat au

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writingfarintothedark · 2 months

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The tent scene...and Wille's comment about Simon getting August's money

I'm back to share some thoughts/analysis, starting with the two moments which most egregiously signified how Wilmon are not in a place to be boyfriends (for now), largely in part to Wille's mental state/family situation, as this season highlighted.

The first moment is the tent scene at the end of episode 2, the second is the poisoned cake scene. Showing Simon having such distinct reactions to these moments confirmed these moments were meant to be egregious and highlight the imbalance in Wilmon's relationship. This post, I'll cover the tent scene- the infamous "shush", but even more importantly the comment Wille makes about Simon getting settlement money from August. Much of Wille's other behaviors throughout the season I could understand came from his place of grief, pressure, and trauma, but the settlement comment that Wille threw in Simon's face was one of the few times I felt Wille was just...wrong, and a bit vicious.

It was the implication that the settlement money was something Simon wanted, that Simon was chasing money, when he actually had zero power in the matter. In reality, Wille knew Simon taking the settlement deal was actually a forfeit (precisely because he has no privilege over August/the royal family), and that Simon struggled with it immensely. It was something Simon was pushed into a corner and forced to do. The comment completely understated Simon's trauma around the entire situation. It actually made me gasp at my screen and say "how dare you?!" (haha) One of the few times I was *that* angry with Wille.

Also the false equivalency that the rich kids' insane wealth, and the insane generational wealth from the literal MONARCHY, is the same as...settlement money. For one thing, on a logical level, it doesn't even make sense as a counterargument- Simon's family having this money is such a recent development, so it doesn't negate Simon's background as a working-class person, and it certainly doesn't change anything about Rosh and Ayub's financial situation, which is what the fight was initially about.

More importantly, this was money Simon was given because he was a VICTIM (along with Wille) where he was violated and had his face shown while being intimate. There's been a whole storyline of Simon wanting to get justice, and he couldn't even get that, he was hung out to dry with no protection from the royal court after Wille was forced to deny the video, and this was the *closest* thing Simon was going to get to justice after all that incredibly painful trauma.

Clearly Wille felt defensive, and because of his privilege and stress he genuinely does not understand why Wille and Simon/Rosh/Ayub's situations are nowhere near the same as his, even while Simon spelled it out for him. So he lashed out defensively, I understand that. The "shush" is still awful and made my blood boil, but tbh I could see myself forgiving Wille for that because that clearly stems from Wille thinking it is ok to do that... because that's how his parents talk to him... and that can be unlearned.

So I think this tent scene was a turning point this season, because it showed how these two still have to develop a lot more before their dynamic is healthy. I would not call it toxic, because I hate when people throw that term around, but honestly that (potential?) breakup in episode 5 was a long time coming because they both needed to heal.

#young royals #wilmon #simon eriksson #prince wilhelm #this scene had me heated won't lie to you #still love my kids though

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blackberreh-art · 2 months

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Some context on the “Curiosity” art piece??

I’m genuinely interested and also it’s super pretty ✨✨

All for One isn't very approachable. His charm brings others to him, but it's the rare specimen that he allows close enough to touch. His dear doctor, his closest friend and confidant (Oh how All for One misses him) was really the only one. He didn't care to maintain his façade of humanity for too long, and scaring off any potential pawns would have been a pain. It was a game he'd been playing for well over a century at this point, and All for One was... tired.

All Might already knew about him. Knew him down to his deepest core, just like his dearest doctor. All for One didn't need to pretend. That wasn't to say that it wasn't fun to slip into the role with All Might, but All for One wasn't pressed to keep the game going.

It was... nice. Admittedly. He should voice that to All Might, maybe. It would be worth it to see his nose crinkle in annoyance. Cute.

All Might's hands are dry, and a little cold, especially in comparison to the inferno burning beneath All for One's flesh. His grip is gentle, his fingertips even more so as they brush around the center of his palm. A fingertip skirts around the hole, the faintest hint of pressure applied, and its like a jolt of electricity along All for One's nerves.

Not unfamiliar. Not painful, not exactly. He'd long passed the years where he would habitually pick at them as a child, and the sensitivity never lessened. He wondered if All Might was brave enough to stick a finger inside. Ujiko had once, driven by the same curiosity that All Might now felt, and had jerked his hand away in an instant. A stuttering explanation about burning and electricity had gone over All for One's head, who'd known it wouldn't be pleasant. His body was a conduit to hundreds of thousands of quirks - of course his body ran hot.

"It's warm." All Might said, pulling All for One from his thoughts. Silly. Stating the obvious. All for One grinned, made natural from a century of practice. Or it was a real one. All for One didn't examine the stab of amusement that warmed his chest. It was easier to lie to himself.

#here i wrote a bit of this #long story short - they've been living together for 6 months and things are tentatively civil and All Might was curious #berreh speaks #my writing #old man yaoi au

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plasticflwrs · 4 months

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⠀⠀ ⠀┈─ NOTHING NEW ⠀⠀／ ⠀⠀ an oliver song story ( 2022 ).

RACH. I wrote it when I was 19, and I've written a lot of other things since, and it's just... what if... what if that was the one... what if that was the one, best thing I'll ever do and I spend the rest of my life just getting worse and worse and drying up, uninspired, and I never become great. — The Prelude by Dave Malloy.

WORD COUNT. 3.2k words. WARNINGS / NOTES. Discussions of mental health symptoms related to general anxiety and major depressive episodes. (Passive) suicidal ideation. Alcohol mention. Originally published in 2023, but now featuring small changes of names and timeline ( rip minghui 😔 ).

“GOOD TO SEE YOU, OLIVER,” Yeonghui smiles as she lets Oliver into her office. “You never answered my text messages. I was worried about you.”

Oliver knows what Yeonghui is doing.

She’s been worried about Oliver more recently as the bags under his eyes become more prominent and the schedule is more focused on going out with friends than actually writing their next album. This impromptu therapy session was not going to solve any of their current problems and he had other events to attend. Drinks with Rowan, Jiyeon, and old friends. A phone call with his mother. A real therapy appointment.

Oliver is a busy person and finding a break in their hectic schedule was almost impossible. If the opportunity presented itself, he was going to take it. In reality, he never fully disconnected from his idol life. Always created new voice memos for new music, hid behind a mask so he wasn’t recognized, and appeared on the social media of his closest friends to get the band’s name out there. He liked to create a separation between his personal and professional life but the lines had blurred at the end of 2020.

He doesn’t understand why this is such a big deal.

He had written some of their discography before this album and the rest had been solely written by Salem before that. Yes, they had been missing for sixteen months, but, he was not the only member able to write music. Since he had returned from the states a few months ago, these meetings to discuss "music" (read: his personal life) had become more often. She was more open about her demands for a new album and Oliver was growing tired of it. He knew Salem had enough drafts to cover them for a few years at minimum, Jiyeon had showed him a few things, and even Junyeong of all people brought up a new drum line during their last practice.

Why was Yeonghui not calling them every day? He never understood her actions.

Oliver gives her a smile, the same that fans gushed about on Twitter and he had perfected over the years before speaking, “I’m fine. You know I’m allergic to my cellphone. I never answer anyone.”

“I’ve known you for almost seven years so I’m allowed to worry,” Yeonghui replies, keeping her voice even and her smile is tight-lipped, a sign of annoyance. She’s known amongst the artists for her quick temper. “Everybody is worried about you.”

“Everybody?” he questions. Oliver knows for certain that some people could care less about his health right now.

“Yes, everybody that’s important, which is your managers and myself. You know we have a comeback scheduled for the end of his quarter and I needed to know how that was going. There’s a lot riding on this, as you know.”

Oliver leans back in the armchair and crosses his arms, defensively. “Have you asked Salem or JIyeon yet? They seemed… excited to run a project.”

She shakes her head and says, “we don’t want that. Plastic Flowers has been out of the public eye for ten months, so we need to retain any relevance from Teeth last year and that will only come from you."

“What if I don’t want to?” Oliver challenges and both of them are surprised by his attempts at talking back.

“We can’t force you, of course,” Yeonghui says, leaning closer to Oliver. “But, I can cancel this album and make sure it looks like your fault. Junyeong and Salem are already upset, Jiyeon just sent us a lovely demo to compliment what you’ve already written, and Deurim's growing restless without any work. It would be very easy to recreate that outrage. Your choice, Oliver.”

He’s quiet for a few moments, remaining in that defensive position as she meets his stare directly. Oliver has always had an interesting relationship with his CEO and has never gone directly against her in their seven years of working together. He is a people pleaser at heart and at this moment, he wants to continue the fight against her but also knows that Yeonghui isn’t one to bluff. Sure, she’s prone to exaggerations to get her way nonetheless, she would find a way to twist these events in her favor and they both know that.

“Fine. I’ll send you some files later tonight.”

“Great. Why don’t we find some inspiration right now though? We have big plans for the promotion of this album,” she smiles, satisfied with winning the conversation, and opens her notebook to keep track. “So, how have your days been?”

First, he wakes up at eleven-forty-five.

He pulls himself out of his bed and reluctantly puts on a new pair of clothes, brushing his hair of any knots before entering the living room. Salem gives him an annoyed look as she clears off the table from that morning’s breakfast. Junyeong is in the shower after his daily workout. Deurim doesn’t pay him any attention, she’s too focused on trying to learn all their old music from Minghui's poorly taken notes. Jiyeon is drinking her coffee and reading some book, pretending she doesn’t see him, but Oliver can see her eyes flicker around the room. She looks from the corner of her eyes to watch his every move like he was going to do something stupid if she didn’t.

Oliver can’t find it in himself to care.

He wishes Jiyeon a good morning, the smile and light excitement in his voice not reaching any other part of his face. He’s never been that good of an actor. Jiyeon smiles back, small, and thanks him before returning to her book, leaving them in silence as the microwave hums. He wishes he could be better for her and provide their relationship with something indispensable. Instead, their days were spent inside his shared bedroom with Minghui and recounting the one-sided disagreements between the oldest members and Oliver in their debriefs. It was all they discussed recently and he wanted to bury those feelings of resentment. There was nothing Oliver could do to change their minds and he was not going to make the first move to repair their relationship. Salem had said enough during their last practice session.

( She had gone on and on and on about how boring his latest composition was. It played too much into the tropes of the last two albums and whatever he released on Soundcloud. The fans were going to get bored and he could not handle their criticism as she could. The last single she had written performed at the same level as they did in 2019, right after his Superband appearance. It was Oliver that had given them popularity in the first place and she hated that.

“Have you written anything yet?” he asks, not hiding his annoyance. That shuts her up and they return to working in silence, the only sounds coming from his pen scratching against paper and her acoustic guitar. He sighs and almost apologizes. Almost. )

Jiyeon is good friends to have, despite the lulls in their conversations these days. He knows it's his fault for that too. She provided feedback on his latest demos, offered to plan a celebration for his return to South Korea, and gave him enough time to melt into his bed after long meetings. She never rushed Oliver into hanging out and understood that he needed some time to himself. He needs to step up and be there for her. Invite her out or something, stop locking himself in his room. She deserved better friends than Oliver.

“Are you nervous about tonight?” Jiyeon asks, testing the waters of that day.

“Not really, um—” Oliver begins to answer as his phone rings in his pocket. Another missed call from his mother. The third of that day. He gives Jiyeon an apologetic look before slipping back into his bedroom to answer. “I’ll be right back.” She just nods and goes back to her book.

“Hi mom,” he tries to sound happier and it almost works. “How are you? Isn’t it like close to midnight back home?”

His mother, despite the time difference, is ecstatic to hear from him. “Oh, Oliver,” she gushes. “I’ve missed you so much. I couldn’t sleep and wanted to see if you would pick up.”

Kathleen Suh is a wonderful mother and person, easily one of Oliver’s favorites. Until his step-father taught Oliver how to play the piano, he wanted to emulate her. He wanted to attend Harvard University, he wanted to study history, he wanted to have a family of his own, and he wanted to be happy. His mother accepted the idea of his debut easily, wishing him nothing but the best for those years of training. She would send him money for food, new sneakers, and anything that the company needed. Oliver was forced to just take it since she would not take no for an answer. Now, he does the same and plus some extra gifts for his family. Two weeks ago, his checking account showed a small dip as he provided Harry, his younger brother, with a new Macbook for his final years of high school.

She’s happy to hear from Oliver, unsurprisingly. It's been two full months since they’ve last spoken and Oliver covers it with an excuse about being busy with writing for their new album. She accepts it and they move on to a conversation about his siblings with Ivy’s recent engagement still being the talk of the town and Harry’s already joined the poetry club, making friends already. He’s glad to hear that they are happy and healthy. Maybe he should call them this weekend… Did they even want to hear from him, though? Oliver wasn’t sure. It had been months since he initiated contact and would not blame his siblings for ignoring his future attempts to reach out.

The call continues like this for almost an hour. They go through the important details that Oliver would have missed from the stateside and Oliver give her any information about Plastic Flowers. Its a nice change of pace compared to the rest of the week, which was spent dreadfully alone. Oliver is an introvert at heart, but having these catch up calls with his mother wasn’t the same as meeting friends. They could never drain him.

However, the tone changes for the worst.

“You know I’m proud of you, right?” she asks and any good feeling leaves his body at that moment.

Oliver hates when she does this to him and closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. He gets it, really. Not hearing from their children would get anyone in a sentimental mood but Oliver hated discussing his current feelings with anyone and did not want to worry his mother. After a few moments, he answers, “I’m fine, mom. You don’t need to worry about me. I’ve just been busy preparing for this album,” A pause in the conversation. Neither of them speaks so Oliver ends the conversation there. “It’s late in Boston so I’m going to hang up now. I love you.”

Before he ends their call, his mother bids him goodbye and tells him that she loves him too. A hand goes through his dark brown hair, recently fixed from the bleaching sessions of the year prior, and he sighs loudly, flopping onto his mattress. Oliver, for the thousandth time within two hours of being awake, wishes that he was a better person and most importantly, a better son. If he didn’t feel like this, his mother would not have to worry about him and life would be easier for everyone.

Without him…

Nevermind.

Jiyeon don’t want him thinking like that anymore. ‘It’s not good for the band,’ Jiyeon had said a few months ago, sitting on the balcony with three bottles of white wine between them. They always ended up back there, like in the old days, where they felt on top of the world and like nothing could truly hurt them. The days before he realized the band’s relationship breaking down in front of him and along with the divide between his personal and public life. It has always been the three of them against the world with Salem and Junyeong drifting in and out, depending on their feelings toward the youngest members at the time.

He still remembers the celebrations that came with their first single to enter the top ten in the music charts. At the moment, it felt like things were changing for the better. Less glaring and more attempts at working together, the creation of 403 a few months later, and securing their first win.

It was going well… until it wasn’t.

And the world would turn without Oliver Song for a comeback. He was sure of it. It might not reach the same success as Salem indulged in a more niche audience and the general public was not her biggest fan these days, but that was okay with him. It was the company's problem and they would have to work hard to rectify that. If Yeonghui could turn the world against him, she could definitely change the public opinion of Salem in a matter of a few weeks. At the same time, the band might not survive without the input of Oliver as the public’s favorite member and the lead vocalist of Plastic Flowers. While Oliver could take himself from the equation, with the fanbase also divided between favorite members, showing a weakened lineup could spell disaster. Rumors would circulate and the world would stop turning and Oliver would be lost forever, with—

“Oliver? Are you okay? You’ve been in here for, like, three hours,” Deurim's voice interrupts his spiraling and she’s standing just outside of the doorframe with an odd look on her face.

Glancing down at his phone, Oliver could have sworn it was only two in the afternoon last time he had checked and now it was nearing four, closer to the end of the day than the beginning and yet another day lost to his downward spiral. This had been happening a lot more lately, with days blending into nights and the inability to be in the moment. He was always stuck between the past and the future, there was no time to worry about the present and he could not stop moving even for a moment. There was always something to do, even if that was nothing in reality.

“God fucking—” Oliver swears as he sits up, all the blood rushing to his head, and goes to his closet. “I should have set an alarm. I’m going to be so late.”

Deurim watches as he stumbles around the room, pulling a sweater and a new pair of socks from his bedside table. “Late for what?” she asks.

“I have a meeting with Yeonghui in a few minutes. She’s having one of her moments about a new record, I just need to appease her for now. I’ll still make dinner later.”

“Are you sure you’re well enough to go? You look like shit, Oliver,” Deurim remarks.

“What are you talking about?” It's at that exact moment that Oliver gets a closer look at himself in the mirror and pauses for a moment. “Oh. Well, that’s nothing a bit of makeup can’t fix. I’ll just put it on in the car, no big deal,” Oliver’s voice is quicker than normal as the nerves start to get too much and he offers his roommate what should be a smile. Things are suddenly moving miles per minute. “Reservation is for seven, right? I can meet you guys at the restaurant if she runs over time, I’ll keep you and Jiyeon updated, yeah?”

Oliver is not doing well and someone else had noticed. So much for not making anyone worry anymore.

Anyone could see that from miles away. He hasn’t only lost weight over the last few months, but the dark circles have grown, and much more affect his naturally bright appearance. Before this moment, he never had the chance to truly look at himself in the mirror but it seems that the reaction of not only Deurim but the small gasps from the makeup artists was warranted. Oliver isn’t sure when it all got this bad, but, he can fix it, no problem. Starting that night he would change his life for the better. More meals, a peaceful rest, and spending time with Jiyeon was first on the list. That would help him feel better. (Hopefully).

Deurim nods, still looking uncomfortable. They both know stopping Oliver from going to this meeting would be near impossible, he hated missing tasks. “Sounds like a plan. Good luck with the meeting.”

In a few minutes, he is not only ready for the meeting but his plans for after. Their manager knocks on the door and Oliver and escorted to the Superbloom Media headquarters, just ten minutes down the road. The ride is quiet save for the soft lull of whatever song was currently going viral in South Korea and his manager taps the steering wheel to the beat to save them from complete silence. Oliver is thankful that he doesn’t ask many questions and just goes along with whatever the members were feeling to keep his job. At some points, Oliver thinks that the manager is looking at him before remembering that checking your mirrors is always an important safety measure, especially as he turns street corners.

They park in the artists-only lot, the third floor of the private parking garage and he is left to his own devices. The manager has to pick up something else for the members, something that Salem requested from the shop down the street and he wishes Oliver good luck. They both know that he would need it.

That was Oliver’s day.

That had been Oliver’s day for the last three months and it seems like nothing will change.

The only changes come from whatever plans are happening at the same time, guided through the motions by either his bandmates or manager. Nothing ever seemed to change and after a while, it all blended together. Yeonghui isn’t satisfied with his answer and she stopped writing a few minutes into his attempts at recounting his day.

“And, how long have you been like this?”

“Three months.”

She is silent for a moment. “That’s a long time.”

“I know.”

“What happened three months ago?” she asks, trying to get more information out of him.

Oliver shrugs. “I’m not sure.”

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buttercup-bollz · 7 days

Text

HAZBIN HOTEL CRITIQUE/REWRITE. TW: OPINIONS!!! HEAVY TOPICS obvi bc this is hh pt. 1.5

VAGGIE

critiques

so... vaggie.

definitely also one of my faves YET the LEAST thought-out character out of the ENTIRE main six cast, asides from niffty, of course.

honestly, i'm not surprised- given that this is a very frequent phenomenon in media, where one of the people in a sapphic couple end up being watered down to nothing but as an accessory for their partner (uwu gay bean!!! wow vaggie so gay for charlie !!!!!). i mean. I SUPPOSE i can see the direction they were trying to aim her character towards but ... its just so... MEEH? literally, that's the BEST word i'd have to use for her character as a whole. a pretty interesting idea/take yet lacking proper execution & diligence in making consequent storylines.

the wiki page states:

Vaggie is an angel and former Exorcist. She is the deuteragonist of Hazbin Hotel and serves as the manager of the Hazbin Hotel.

Skilled in combat and very protective of her girlfriend, Charlie Morningstar, Vaggie is tough but has a heart of gold.

... pretty dry aint it

there's EIGHT episodes. EIGHT EPISODES where they'd managed to flesh out VOX better than HER who is literally supposed to become a major threat only in SECOND season. don't get me wrong, im a vox kinnie and i love him so much, but it sickens me how there's so much we can say about vox but VAGGIE???? vaggie's ENTIRE personality just basically spins around charlie.

and hey, that's fine, too! it can make up for an interesting arc- and there's clearly implications of how she struggles to separate herself from charlie, example:

episode three, scrambled eggs:

"I took charge today and it all went sideways. I'm supposed to make your dreams a reality. I'm supposed to protect you. I'm supposed to never fail you."

"If I can't help you, what's the point of me?"

like. I REALLY do recognize what they were planning out- i only feel like there wasn't enough.... flavour? emotion? screen-time devoted towards her struggles? or maybe this also could be the result of hazbin hotel's recurring problem: "show, don't tell." and honestly i kinda presume the last one to be more suitable in this case.

the thing is, a lot of stuff that viv says doesn't really make it into the show. she keeps mentioning how husk LOVES magician tricks, grew up in a casino, but... if i didnt know any better i'd NEVER have even the slightest thought that he, in fact, enjoys magic tricks??? the closest to that is him using cards as weapons but it can be easily alluded to his gambling addiction instead. or how angel dust was from the mafia. look at this pink twink and say to my face that he has an inkling of mafiosa blood in him?

im really on edge about this scene because on one hand, i can praise the team for at least making a scarce attempt at establishing her issues- on the other... jesus fucking christ, it was so out of place. i mean, if you didn't SCRUPULOUSLY inspect and examine it time and time again just like i did, and watched it for the first time, you'd be just left dumbfounded and utterly lost on "where tf did that just come from????"

this is only ONE sentence, too. we NEVER get it brought up again. NEVER. we just... then continuously ignore it up until the end. of course, charlie & vaggie talk it out eventually. it was very sweet and an example of healthy communication between the two, however quite iffy:

vaggie: " I'm sorry I got so crazy today."

charlie: " No, no, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I put pressure on you. We work as a team. I guess I just thought all this would be easier, but, we'll figure it out, together. I mean, look what your exercise did for them."

very good apologies! i loved how apologetic both of them were and how they were instantly willing to talk it out, and that charlie respected vaggie's need for personal space & left her alone, but...

... what. in the holy. was that?

i thought the ENTIRE point was that she was UNSURE of what she was without charlie??? what do you mean "we work as a team"???? the FUCK? didn't you say some time ago "Vaggie, don't say that! You do so much! It's-" YOU INSISTED THAT SHE DOES SO MUCH OUTSIDE OF HELPING YOU BUT THEN LATER YOU QUITE LITERALLY TURN IT ON IT'S HEAD? okay. maybe you mean that this isn't ALL for charlie, and that vaggie is a distinct part of it, too. but the phrasing is so hard to decipher and in the end i can't even make sure claims because it's just so vague. was it a mistake from the writers or was it on purpose? its unclear. and im sure people wouldn't want to waste all of their brain-cells trying to make sense of what the FART this was translating and leading up to. like- simultaneously, there's this "show don't tell" problem AND vague turns of phrases, too? it's just a big mess.

"guys LOOK she's so totally dependent on charlie!!"

"so... does that mean she's basically based off charlie and is an addition to her?"

"no!!!!! she's just charlie's gf!"

honestly that's how i see it. they are trying to desperately shove something down our throat and we can't even know for sure what it is- is that chocolate or some frozen flavoured poop? okay eccentric comparison i know but i think a lot of people will agree with me when i say that vaggie deserves a MUCH more clearer storyline, without the writers having to SPELL IT OUT and assure us that this is REAL, yet provide little evidence to back up their claims.

and gosh i fucking DESPISE her name with my whole heart. the meaning/reasoning behind it makes me even more distasteful and disturbed- like there's NO fucking way sera would allow this??? she's adam's manager isn't she, so HOW DID SHE LET HIM DO THAT?? she's supposed to be in charge of this whole fucking thing and take "load" of responsibility on herself? but to me it just seems like sera fucking dumped everything onto adam and then goes whining about how "gawd guys im so stressed!!!! *wipes sweat* tis so hard sitting on my ass all day and telling adam to handle everything on a daily basis!!! *sighs* man am i tired" girl don't take ALL credit from adam away aye? considering everything, he's an amazing commander that supports his soldiers (and don't you fucking DARE tell me that he's a "misogynist", i WILL sneak into your house at night) and does all he can trying to lead an army of THOUSANDS???

vaggie's distrust for men is also unjustified... he PRAISED her and said that she was "one of his top girls", he didn't say anything along the lines of hateful, GENUINELY congratulated her for getting a gf... so where's the distrust coming from? he attacked her? it was literally lute, and all he did was take away her halo. he didn't beat her up on a daily basis or anything, at least as far as we can see? did he act-up stuck up? yeah sure, but so is lute saying that "angels don't make mistakes". and even then it's NOT a good reason to be distrustful towards men... he's just a narcissistic person that's proud of the fact he's the first man that's it. his gender literally doesn't matter in the long-run. and he's... only lowkey sexist at some points? again, it just shows more of how much of a dickbag he is rather than some predatory rapist that sees women as objects and thinks that the entire reason the exorcist army is so good is only because of him. (quote: "lute, how many demons did you kill this year?" "about two seventy five, sir" "woah, badass! pound it danger tits." he doesn't go: "man I trained you so well! gosh im such an amazing big man!" ) or wtv the fuck people think of him. and trust me, i do have the rights to argue about this as a woman who has been sexually harassed by men repeatedly. i wouldn't be creeped out by adam, i'd just think he's a sexist weird dumbass but that's it.

its just.. okay, maybe im getting a little overboard here. let's change the subject and talk about the whole ordeal with "out for love".

what the HELL was the point of that song? WHY did vaggie need to hear it? ALL she did up until that point was SOLELY because of charlie... she doesn't need to be taught to remember to protect her because THAT'S ALL SHE FUCKING DOES THROUGHOUT THE SHOW? she tells charlie not to trust angels not because of a personal vendetta/prejudice but because she's worried for charlie and her ending up disappointed by the fact that heaven isn't as carefree as she thinks? and she literally has every right to do so, her fucking lieutenant severely injured her to a point she became disabled? at least that's how they demonstrate it.

onto her backstory.

why did she spare the sinner child?

i mean... it may be a silly question but in the end it has A LOT of weight to it. she was taught that demons are HORRIBLE, eldritch creatures that deserved nothing but eternal punishment, and then suddenly she sees a kid and then refuses to kill him? i really don't believe that's how it works. what would be the difference if it was an adult crying and being scared? what was the thing that spurred her on to give mercy to a demon at that moment, "the embodiement of pure evil"? she was one of the exorcists' army's "top girls", meaning she had a very high body count, and this was another Extermination like any other, so what in the WORLD stopped her? i really don't fucking believe the delusion that she DIDN'T kill a demon child at some point before that or witnessed someone doing it instead. it's just... god i'm fuming so bad because so many things are thrown into our faces but they don't end up getting properly explained.

and don't even get me started onto the wings thing. HOW DID SHE REGROW HER WINGS GODDAMIT? IS THAT ALL SHE HAD TO DO? SING AND PRANCE AROUND TO A LATINA BEAT WITH A GIGANTIC SWORD WOMAN? WHY ISN'T IT QUESTIONED BY ANYBODY IN THE SHOW... YOU GOT TECHNICALLY AN ENTIRE LIMB RIPPED OUT AND SUDDENLY IT GROWS BACK LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED? that is so fucking strange and I'm willing to bet all my organs painful as hell.

"im not used to fighting with long hair" BITCH WHY THE FUCK DO YOU HAVE LONG HAIR THEN??? DON'T YOU WANT TO PROTECT CHARLIE? HUH???? YOU WANT TO PROTECT HER BUT MAKE IT HARDER TO DO SO BY YOURSELF AND POSSIBLY HYPOTHETICALLY ENDANGERING HER SAFETY???

and guys, please explain to me how the fallen angel thing works? like... the process of becoming fallen? why does lucifer get funky horns + a tail and vaggie doesn't? is it because he's a seraphim and she's an exorcist? why has no one noticed that she's vastly different from the rest of sinners? literally carmilla makes a jab at that in the show itself and breaks the fourth wall, which is icky icl. HOW NO ONE FIGURED OUT SHE WAS AN EXORCIST AND WHY CHARLIE NEVER QUESTIONED THE FACT THAT SHE WIELDED A RANDOM ANGELIC SPEAR? how did she NEVER see vaggie's golden blood when she first found her? so confusing.

why the hell does she wants to help charlie? like, okay yes, she saved her and she's her girlfriend and she wants to support her and everything, but how did vaggie came to terms with the fact that hey, maybe redemption is possible? and even then the wiki says that it's " unclear whether Vaggie fully buys into Charlie's concept for redemption". and it makes her flat as a character. she doesn't have her own goals besides helping charlie.

hello rosie!:

"Perhaps this girl, was trying to redeem herself too."

SHOW ME??? SHOW ME THEN???? SHOW ME HOW SHE'S TRYING TO REDEEM HERSELF TOO? I LITERALLY DON'T GIVE TWO FUCKS ABOUT WHAT YOU'RE TELLING ME I WANT TO SEE THIS DIRECTLY COMING FROM VAGGIE.

*HAS A KEYBOARD RAGE*

sighs.

since this is taking long enough and im worn out, i'll be separating this into two parts; the first is this, the critique, and the second half will be about the rewrite.

let me know if you'd enjoy me making a fanfic out of this and be sure to check out my charlie morningstar post!

#hazbinhotel #vaggie #hazbinhotelvaggie #chaggie #lute #hazbin hotel lute #adam hazbin hotel #sera #carmilla carmine #headcanon #rewrite

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